IO.  A.  COLLINS, 

Dealer  in 

[S  AM)  STATMERY, 
res,  Frames  &  Mouldings, 
Main  Sti'eet, 


T  S.ARTHUR'S   NEW   WORKS. 

I.  OUT   IN    THE    WORLD. 

II.  LIGHT    OX    SHADOWED    PATHS. 

III.  NOTHING   BUT   MONEY. 

IV.  WHAT    CAME    AFTEKWAKDS. 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume,  at  $1.50,  and  sent 
free  by  mail  on  receipt  of  price,  By 

Carleton,  Publisher, 
New  Yorlt* 


WHAT   CAME   AFTEEWARDS. 


BEING    A    SEQUEL    TO    "NOTHING    BUT    MONEY." 


BY 

T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

A.OTHOE    OF     "OUT  IN   THE   WORLD,"     "LIGHT  ON  SHADOWED  PATH3,"     "NOTHING 
BUT   MONEY,"    ETC.    ETC. 


MS* 


NEW  YORK: 
CARLETOJV,  PUBLISHER,  413  BROADWAY. 

1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

G.    W.    CARLETON, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

T  was  an  evening  in  winter.  A  man, 
just  above  the  medium  height,  with  a 
pale,  delicately  cut,  intellectual  face,  sat 
by  an  office  table,  above  which  depended 
a  shaded  gas-light.  He  was  leaning 
over  a  book,  now  examining  a  page  in 
tently,  and  now  turning  the  leaves  with 
rapid  fingers  —  not  so  much  reading,  as 
searching  for  some  fact,  formula,  or  illustration.  His 
face,  we  said,  was  pale ;  but  the  paleness  was  not  of  ill 
health,  nor  in  consequence  of  prolonged  physical  ex 
haustion  ;  for  the  skin  had  a  clear,  healthy  look,  and 
the  strong  brown  eyes,  that  glanced  up,  now  and  then, 
in  pauses  of  reflection,  were  full  of  fire.  The  face,  as 
we  said,  was  delicately  cut;  the  forehead  high  and 
broad ;  the  eyebrows  thin,  but  darkly  defined ;  the 
lashes  well  fringed  and  with  a  graceful  curve  upwards ; 
the  nose  long,  rather  prominent,  but  straight,  with  wide, 
almost  transparent  nostrils  ;  full  lips,  and  slightly  reced- 


ing  chin. 


M119130 


6     '  'WHAT 'CAME  AFTERWARDS. 

There  was  not  a  hard  or  harsh  line  in  his  face.  The 
artist-soul,  which  had  been  at  work  upon  it  for  many 
years  —  the  snow-flecked  hair  said  many  years  —  drew, 
it  was  plain,  her  inspiration  and  ideals  of  beauty,  from 
heavenly  spheres.  Truth,  purity,  self-discipline,  high 
thoughts  and  noble  purposes,  with  love  of  the  neigh 
bor,  had  all  guided  the  artist-soul,  as  it  wrought  upon 
the  material  investure,  amd  cut  it  into  a  represent 
ation  of  its  own  interior  life.  So  the  soul  is  ever  at 
work  upon  the  face,  giving  to  it  the  form  of  its  quality. 
If  you  have  skilled  eyes,  you  may  read  the  men  you 
meet  by  the  lines  of  their  countenances. 

He  sat  at  an  office  table,  the  strong  gas-light  flood 
ing  his  face,  and  giving  it  an  almost  supernatural  beau 
ty.  There  were  many  cases  standing  against  the  walls 
of  the  office,  which  was  spacious,  and  carpeted ;  — 
cases  of  books ;  of  chemical  and  philosophical  apparatus  ; 
of  drugs  and  curious  specimens  in  bottles ;  and  of  an 
atomical  preparations.  Orderly  arrangement,  and  an 
air  of  taste  and  comfort,  w^ere  in  everything.  The  man 
and  his  surroundings  were  in  harmony. 

44  Is  the  Doctor  in  ?  " 

The  door  opened  so  quietly,  that  he  was  not  aware 
of  the  presence  of  any  one,  until  a  child's  voice  asked 
the  question.  Glancing  up,  he  saw  a  little  girl,  not 
over  eight  years  of  age,  standing  just  inside  of  the  of- 


WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS.  7 

fice  door,  which  she  still  held  ajar.  She  was  poorly 
dressed,  but  clean.  Her  face,  which  could  not  be  called 
a  plain  one,  had  little  of  that  healthy  glow  and  round 
ness  which  we  see  in  children  who  have  plenty  of  food, 
air  and  exercise.  It  was  the  face  of  a  child  to  whom 
life  had  not  been  all  sunshine  ;  for  over  it  shadows  of 
real  things  had  passed  so  often,  and  dwelt  so  long,  that 
cheerfulness  had  faded  out.  She  had  a  look  of  endur 
ance,  if  not  suffering.  Her  skin  was  fair,  and  she  had 
blue  eyes,  that  should  have  been  dancing  in  light ;  but 
they  were  dreamy  and  sad,  and  full  of  questionings.  To 
her,  life  had  come  on  the  darker  side,  and  its  mystery 
and  sorrow  weighed  sluggishly  on  her  heart.  The  Doc 
tor,  who  possessed  the  rare  faculty  of  reading  counte 
nances  as  some  men  read  books,  saw  all  this  at  a  glance. 

"  I  am  the  Doctor,"  he  replied,  leaning  back  from 
the  table,  and  looking  intently  at  the  child. 

"  Mother  says,  wont  you  come  and  see  little  Theo." 
The  child  came  forward  a  few  steps.  Her  eyes  rested 
full  on  the  Doctor's  face  —  not  boldly,  but  with  that 
confidence  seen  in  artless  children. 

"  Who  is  your  mother  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Ewbank."  - 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?  3> 

"  In  Green  street,  four  doors  from  Franklin." 

«  Which  side  ?  " 


8  WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 

"  On  t'other  side." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Theo  ?  " 

«  He's  sick." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  he  cries  'most  all  the  time,  and 
ne's  fallen  to  skin  and  bone,  as  mother  says.  He's 
cried  all  day  —  and  he's  so  hot;  and  wont  eat  any 
thing." 

"  In  Green  street,  four  doors  from  Franklin  ?  " 

The  Doctor  took  a  slate  and  commenced  writing  on 
it  with  a  pencil. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  is  the  name  ?     Mrs.  Ewbank  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Does  your  mother  want  me  to  come  around  this 
evening  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  She's  crying;  and  is  afraid  Then  \vont 
live." 

It  was  on  the  Doctor's  tongue  to  ask  the  child  about 
her  father  ;  but  it  crossed  his  mind  that  such  a  ques 
tion  might  give  pain,  and  so  it  was  withheld. 

"  I'll  be  around  this  evening,  tell  your  mother,"  he 
answered,  kindly. 

The  child  threw  him  a  grateful  look,  and  then  went 
out.  As  she  did  so,  the  Doctor  bent  over  his  volume 
again,  and  commenced  running  from  page  to  page  in  a 


WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS.  9 

rapid,  searching  manner.  He  did  not  observe  that 
another  door  had  opened,  nor  that  almost  noiseless  feet 
were  crossing  the  room.  A  hand  was  laid  gently  on 
his  shoulder.  Without  starting,  or  a  motion  of  surprise, 
he  leaned  back  from  the  table,  and  turning,  looked  up 
into  the  pleasant  face  of  a  woman.  In  actual  record 
her  years  were  forty-five ;  in  appearance,  she  was  young 
er  by  half  a  score.  The  flowers  of  summer  had  been 
tempered  for  her  by  the  shadows  of  great  rocks,  or  the 
cool  recesses  of  arbors  wrought  of  vines  that  loving 
hands  had  planted.  The  wild  blasts  of  winter  had 
rarely  been  able  to  penetrate  the  sheltered  home  in 
which  she  dwelt;  and  even  when  their  chilly  breath 
came  in  through  a  suddenly  opening  door,  or  neglected 
cranny,  it  was  soon  subdued  by  the  tempering  warmth 
within.  Life  had,  thus  far  on  her  journey,  given  her 
more  of  peace  than  sadness  —  more  of  interior  satisfac 
tion  than  disquietude.  And  yet,  a  second  glance  at  her 
almost  youthful  face,  revealed  the  fact,  that  she  had  not 
passed  thus  far  in  the  ways  of  life,  without  a  share  of 
discipline  —  of  sorrow  —  of  sickness  and  pain  ;  but  they 
had  wrought  their  true  intent,  softening,  elevating  and 
refining  —  bearing  back,  and  to  the  circumference  of 
her  being,  the  inherited  natural  with  its  evils,  and  min 
istering  to  the  birth  of  that  spiritual  life,  the  full  develop 
ment  of  which  gives  the  stature  of  an  angel. 
1* 


10  WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 

"  Lena."  As  the  Doctor  uttered  her  name,  gently, 
a  smile  crept  around  his  lips,  and  the  intenser  light  of 
his  eyes,  which  professional  thought  had  kindled,  soften 
ed  to  a  look  of  tenderness. 

"  Studying  a  case,  I  supppose,"  she  said,  question  and 
affirmative  uniting  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  and  a  difficult  one,"  replied  the  Doctor,  as  he 
still  leaned  back,  and  looked  at  his  wife.  She  moved 
around,  and  stood  more  nearly  in  front,  the  light  falling 
strongly  on  his  face  from  the  shaded  lamp,  while  hers  re 
mained  partly  in  shadow. 

"  I  should  think,  by  this  time,"  was  remarked,  "  that 
you  were  so  familiar  with  all  forms  of  disease,  and  their 
treatment,  that  no  case  would  be  found  difficult." 

"  As  evil  is  Protean,  so  is  disease.  When  the  moral 
ist  has  discovered  all  forms  of  evil,  and  noted  their 
remedies,  the  physician  may  hope  to  attain  for  disease  a 
like  consummation,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  In  that  view,  the  healer  can  never  be  perfect  in  his 
art." 

"  Never.  Symptoms  —  effects  —  the  ultimate  signs 
of  causes  he  does  not  see  —  are  all  that  meet  his  observa 
tion.  Sin  is  the  mother  of  disease  —  therefore,  all  dis 
eases  have  a  spiritual  origin.  Physical  evil  is  only  the 
result  of  moral  evil,  descended  to  a  lower  plane  of  life. 

As  the  cause  is,  so  will  the  effect  be  ;  and  the  effect 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  11 

must  give  an  actual  sign  of  the  cause,  and  vary  as  to  its 
quality  and  force.  You  can  see,  then,  how,  with  an 
almost  infinite  variety,  diseases  will  manifest  themselves, 
and  while  holding  a  type,  or  classification,  set  at  naught, 
in  many  instances,  all  the  physician's  previously  acquir 
ed  skill  and  demand  of  him  a  new  application  of  reme 
dies." 

Something  like  a  sigh  parted  the  air,  as  the  Doctor's 
wife  answered  — 

"  And  so,  his  work  will  never  grow  lighter." 

"  Why  should  it,  if  he  have  strength  ?  "  asked  the 
Doctor.  His  countenance  was  as  serene  as  his  voice. 

"  True.  Why  should  it,  if  he  have  strength  ?  But, 
dear  "  —  her  voice  fell  to  a  lower  tone  —  "  your  strength 
is  failing,  while  your  work  demands  increasing  vigor." 

u  I  am  not  conscious  of  the  failure."  The  Doctor 
smiled  into  the  face  of  his  wife. 

"  You  bear  the  signs,"  she  answered,  tenderly. 
"  Here,"  she  laid  the  tips  of  her  fingers  softly  on  his 
hair,  "  they  are  gathering  fast.  Every  day  I  can  see 
some  spot  on  which  a  snow-flake  has  alighted.  And,  as 
your  head  whitens,  the  summer  flushes  grow  paler  on 
your  cheeks.  Are  deepening  orbits  and  shrinking  flesh, 
the  signs  of  strength  ?  No —  no,  my  husband  !  " 

"  You  are  too  quick  at  reading  signs,  Lena.  The 
plump  and  the  ruddy  are  not  always  the  most  enduring. 


12  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

•     • 

The  clear  eye,  the  healthy  skin,  the  compact  muscle  — 
these  show  the  right  condition,  and  give  warrant  of  en 
durance.  And,  above  all,  the  calm  temperament,  and 
Heaven-aspiring  soul." 

"  But  a  dwarf  may  not  be  equal  to  a  giant's  work." 

"  No ;  and  he  would  be  a  very  foolish  dwarf  to  at 
tempt  so  impossible  a  thing.  But,  a  dwarf,  working 
bravely  up  to  his  strength,  may  do  a  great  deal  more 
than  a  self-indulgent  giant,  and  be  none  the  weaker." 

"  You  generally  beat  me  in  argument,"  said  the 
Doctor's  wife,  smiling.  "  But,  convinced  against  my 
will,  I  hold  the  same  opinion  still.  I  feel  that  you  are 
taxing  yourself  too  severely' —  and  I  see  it,  also ;  and 
unless  your  reasoning  harmonizes  with  my  perception,  I 
cannot  fully  accept  your  judgment.  In  most  cases, 
your  thought  and  my  intuition  reach  to  the  same  con 
clusion,  and  then  I  know  we  are  right.  I  doubt  now  ; 
and  think  you  will  be  wise  to  take  the  benefit  of  my 
doubts,  and  spare  yourself  a  little." 

The  Doctor  reached  his  hand  towards  the  table,  and 
shut  the  book  over  which  he  had  been  poring  when  his 
wife  came  in. 

"  That's  right.  Now  come  up  stairs,"  she  said,  draw 
ing  upon  his  arm. 

"  Is  tea  ready  ?  "     The  Doctor  took  out  his  watch. 

"It  will  be,  in  ten  minutes." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  13 

"  Half  past  six."  The  Doctor  laid  his  hand  on  the 
book  he  had  just  closed.  "  In  ten  minutes,  you  say  ? 
That  will  give  time  to  finish  my " 

"  Indeed  it  will  not,"  said  the  wife,  interrupting  him, 
and  speaking  with  the  firmness  of  one  who  intended  to 
have  her  own  way.  Seizing  the  volume  resolutely,  she 
returned  it  to  one  of  the  book-cases. 

"  Now,  sir,  my  will  must,  for  once,  be  law,"  she  add 
ed,  with  mock  seriousness. 

T^he  Doctor  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  his  wife,  meeting  her  animated  countenance,  as 
she  turned  from  the  book-case,  with  so  sober  a  gaze,  that 
she  was,  for  a  moment,  half  in  doubt  whether  he  were 
not  offended. 

"  Do  you  know  who  is  up  stairs  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Lena  and  little  Ned." 

"  No  !  "     The  Doctor  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment. 

"  Yes ;  they've  been  here  all  the  afternoon." 

"  Have  they  ?  Well,  that's  pleasant."  And  he  was 
already  on  his  way  to  the  door  of  his  office.  In  the 
door,  he  turned,  and  saw  his  wife  standing  near  the  table. 
She  had  not  moved. 

"  Come,"  he  said. 

'*  Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence  about  me,"  was  answer 
ed,  in  a  voice  simulating  so  well  a  hurt  spirit,  that  the 


14  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Doctor  was  for  the  moment  deceived.  Going  back,  he 
drew  an  arm  around  his  wife. 

"  She  is  yours  as  well  as  mine,  dear." 

"  All  very  well  to  say  that.  But,  I  understand.  You 
couldn't  give  me  ten  minutes.  Oh,  no  !  But  at  Lena's 
name,  you  start  away  like  an  impatient  lover." 

"  Jealous  of  your  own  child !  What  a  riddle  is 
woman  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  standing  full  before  his  wife, 
and  looking  away  down  into  her  large,  black  eyes,  that 
were  always  so  full  of  light  that  few  could  gaze  into 
them  steadily.  A  kiss  reconciled  all.  A  husband's  kiss 
—  the  heart  of  a  loving  wife  never  gets  too  old  for  that 
sign,  but  leaps  to  it,  always  responsive,  and  with  a  thrill 
of  pleasure.  With  his  arm  still  around  her  waist,  the 
Doctor  and  his  wife  went  from  the  office  to  one  of  the 
drawing-rooms  above. 

u  Lena  !  "  How  tenderly  the  name  was  spoken ! 
How  warmly  the  small,  fair  hand  was  clasped  !  How 
lovingly  manhood's  lips  rested  on  lips  that  were  given 
to  their  pressure  with  the  pure  abandonment  of  a 
daughter's  heart.  Then  little  three-year-old  Ned  was 
in  grandpa's  arms,  and  clinging  around  his  neck. 

"  How  is  Edward  ?  "  The  tone  in  which  this  ques 
tion  was  asked,  made  very  plain  the  fact  that  Edward, 
Lena's  husband,  stood  in  high  regard  with  the  Doctor. 

"  Very,  well."     The  daughter's  love  and  the  wife's 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  15 

love,  blended  sweetly  in  the  rich  young  face,  dark  as 
her  mother's,  and  as  full  of  affluent  life. 

"  He  will  come  to  tea  ?  " 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  we  cannot,  once  in  an 
age,  get  you  to  tea." 

"  Crowded  with  professional  duties?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that's  the  only  reason.  He  has  a  consultation 
at  six.  I've  said  a  hundred  times,  when  I  saw  how  you 
were  robbed  of  social  hours,  that  I'd  never  marry  a 
doctor.  But,  it  was  my  fate.  You  would  have  office 
students !  "' 

"  Not  a  very  hard  fate,  I  imagine,"  said  her  father, 
smiling. 

"  I  will  be  as  brave  and  enduring  as  possible,  know 
ing  that  it  might  be  worse,"  answered  the  daughter,  with 
feigned  seriousness. 

As  they  talked,  the  tea-bell  rang.  Assembled  at  the 
table,  five  persons  made  up  the  circle.  Doctor  Hofland 
and  his  wife ;  Lena,  their  oldest  daughter,  with  her  boy 
in  a  high-chair,  next  to  his  grandfather,  and  Annie,  the 
youngest  daughter,  just  blossoming  into  the  full  spring 
time  of  luxuriant  eighteen.  Their  only  son,  Frank, 
holding  the  rank  of  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  was  on 
board  of  a  national  vessel,  in  the  Indian  seas. 


16       *  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  It*  Frank  were  only  here  ! "  The  mother's  thought, 
as  she  gazed  around  the  table,  went  off  to  the  absent 
one.  "  Then,"  she  added,  our  circle  would  be  com 
plete." 

"  There  would  still  be  a  vacant  place,"  said  Lena. 

"Whose?" 

"  Edward's." 

"  True."  And  yet  the  mother's  heart  did  not  come 
rounding  into  fulness  in  her  tones." 

"  He  loves  you  just  as  dearly  as  if  he  were  your  own 
son,  mother." 

"  And  I  love  him  very  much.  He  could  scarcely 
be  dearer,  if  he  were  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  Yes,  it 
would  take  him,  also,  to  make  our  circle  complete." 

"  He  seems  to  be  making  his  way  very  rapidly  into 
the  confidence  of  some  of  our  best  people,"  said  the  Doc 
tor. 

"  Yes.  Almost  every  week,  he  is  called  to  a  new 
family,"  said  Lena,  with  pride  and  pleasure  in  her  voice. 
"  If  it  goes  on  as  it  has  begun,  he  will  speedily  acquire 
a  large  practice." 

"  I  hear  him  well  spoken  of  in  influential  circles,"  re 
marked  Doctor  Hofland.  "  As  it  now  stands,  he  is  on 
the  right  road  to  a  high  place  in  his  profession." 

"  He  was  called  in  to  Mr.  Larobe's  last  week,"  said 
Lena. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  17 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Larobe's  !     Who's  sick  there  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Larobe's  oldest  son." 

"Leon  Guy?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  ails  him  ?  " 

"  Some  nervous  disease.  Pie's  lost  the  use  of  both 
legs.  Edward  says  that  he's  a  most  pitiable  object  — 
emaciated,  and  with  a  countenance  so  exhausted  by 
suffering,  that  the  sight  of  him  leaves  an  impression  of 
sadness.  His  mother  has  taken  him  to  the  sea  shore,  to 
medicinal  springs,  and  once  to  France,  for  consultation 
with  physicians  in  Paris.  But,  all  to  no  good  purpose." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  suffering  in  this  way  ?  "  ask 
ed  the  Doctor. 

"  For  a  number  of  years.  Up  to  his  tenth  year,  he 
was  a  healthy  boy.  Then,  from  cold,  or  some  shock,  I 
don't  remember  which,  the  balance  of  health  was  de 
stroyed,  and  he  has  been  growing  worse  ever  since." 

"  He  must  be  a  young  man,  now  ?  " 

"Past  sixteen,  1  think." 

The  Doctor's  eyes  fell  from  his  daughter's  face,  and 
his  countenance  grew  serious. 

"  We  cannot  pity  the  mother,"  he  said,  thoughtfully, 
"  however  we  may  feel  for  the  child.  If  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  retribution,  it  must  fall  upon  her  head." 

"It  is  falling,  I  think,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hofland, 
"  and  with  crushing  weight  —  hurting  her  in  the  most 


18  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

vulnerable  places.  Some  one  told  me  recently,  that 
her  daughter,  Blanche  Guy,  was  simple.  This,  in  all 
probability,  accounts  for  the  fact  that  she  is  never  seen 
on  the  street,  and  but  seldom  in  the  carriage,  with  her 
mother." 

"  Simple  ?  "  the  Doctor  mused.  "  I  shouldn't  won 
der,"  he  added,  "  if  that  were  really  so.  I  saw  them 
riding  out  not  long  since,  and  remarked  in  passing,  an 
unsatisfactory  something  in  the  girl's  face.  Feeble 
minded  —  poor  child  !  " 

u  Better  feeble-minded,  I  should  say,"  returned  Mrs. 
Hofland,  "  than  evil-minded,  like  her  mother." 

"  Safer  by  far,"  answered  the  Doctor.  "  With  such 
a  father  and  such  a  mother,  what  hope  of  a  moral  equi 
librium  in  the  child  ?  The  chances  are  heavily  on  the 
adverse  side.  In  a  foreclosure  of  the  rational,  so  that 
responsibility  may  cease,  lies,  it  would  seem,  in  occasion 
al  instances,  the  only  barrier  to  floods  of  evil  in  which 
the  soul  would  inevitably  be  lost." 

"  But,  what  bitterness  for  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Larobe's 
quality  of  mind.  How  the  perpetual  presence  of  an 
imbecile  child  must  drain  the  wine  of  life  from  her  soul, 
and  leave  only  bitter  dregs,"  said  Mrs.  Hofland. 

"  And  these  are  not  all  her  troubles,"  remarked  the 
Doctor.  "  To  the  hopelessly  invalid  son,  and  worse 
diseased  daughter,  another  calamity  has  been  added. 

"What?" 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  19 

"  In  her  hands,  if  all  that  is  said  be  true,  Adam  Guy 
was  bent  at  will.  Her  subtle  power,  against  which  he 
had  no  armor  of  defence,  o'ermastered,  and,  I  fear,  des 
troyed  him.  For  one,  I  have  never  been  clear  as  to  a 
state  of  insanity  warranting  his  removal  to  a  mad 
house  ;  and  the  fact,  that  he  was  taken  to  a  distant 
private  institution,  under  circumstances  of  haste  and 
concealment,  never  fully  explained,  has  always  left  with 
me  a  suspicion  of  foul  play.  Poor  man  !  His  dread 
ful  death,  while  attempting  escape,  closed  the  door  on  a 
mystery  which  no  one  cared  to  investigate.  Though 
rich,  Guy  had  no  true  friends  ;  and  when  he  was  in 
mortal  peril,  there  was  none  interested  enough  to  spring 
to  his  rescue.  But,  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  particular 
ly  of  him.  If  there  has  been  foul  play,  Justin  Larobe 
was  the  wife's  accomplice.  Executor  under  the  will  of 
Mr.  Guy,  in  little  more  than  a  year  from  the  day  of 
his  death,  he  became  the  widow's  husband.  From  that 
time,  I  venture  to  say,  the  subtle,  cold,  self-poised,  and 
selfish  woman  found  herself  matched  against  one  of 
superior  subtlety  and  strength.  Adam  Guy  was  tri 
ple  armed  and  defended  only  on  one  side,  and  vulner 
able  at  almost  every  other  point ;  but,  Justin  Larobe  is 
of  another  class.  Guy  sought  wealth  through  the  ave 
nues  of  trade  —  honest  trade  in  the  main  ;  but,  Larobe 
has  more  of  the  spirit  of  a  freebooter.  Under  legal  cov 
ers,  and  statutory  licence,  he  plunders  right  and  left, 


20  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

as  opportunity  offers.  Of  course,  such  a  man  is  ever 
on  the  alert  —  Argus-eyed,  for  prey  as  well  as  for  pro 
tection.  He  observes  the  motions  of  all  who  approach 
him  ;  and  reads  those  who  try  to  read  him,  from  Intro 
duction  to  Finis,  before  they  have  spelled  through  ^he 
first  chapter  of  his  record.  Such  is  my  estimate  of  Jus 
tin  Larobe,  and  such,  I  doubt  not,  the  widow  of  Adam 
Guy  has  found  him.  But,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  she 
has  met  with  another  calamity.  There  has  been,  I  un 
derstand,  a  separation  between  herself  and  husband." 

"  Not  legal  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hofland. 

"  No  ;  only  formal." 

"  On  what  ground  ?  " 

"  That  is  mainly  conjectural.  Rumor  says,  they 
have  not  lived  happily  for  a  long  time  ;  and  rumor 
also  says,  that  Larobe  has  acted  with  but  little  disguise 
since  their  marriage,  on  the  subject  of  her  property, 
which  the  law  has  placed  almost  entirely  in  his  hands. 
Certain  settlements  were  sipulated  for ;  but  the  cunning 
lawyer,  who  had,  as  executor  under  Mr.  Guy's  will, 
everything  in  his  own  hands,  while  formally  making 
these  settlements,  contrived  to  fail  in  giving  them  a 
legal  value." 

"  And  is  going  to  absorb  everything,"  said  Mrs. 
Hofland.  - 

"  That  is  an  inference,  which  goes  beyond  the  range 
of  probabilities.  My  belief  is  that  he  will  not  drive  her 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  21 

to  desperation  by  any  such  an  excess  of  wrong.  He 
knows  her  quality,  and  just  how  far  to  test  its  strength. 
There  is  enough  between  them  in  my  opinion,  to  ruin 
both,  should  either  take  the  witness  stand  against  the 
other.  So  while  contending  one  with  the  other,  in  a 
bitter  antagonism,  the  last  things  must  be  at  stake  be 
fore  Mrs.  Justin  will  fling  off  all  disguises,  and  risk 
a  final  struggle  with  him  before  the  world.  Confreres 
in  evil,  are  chary  of  an  open  fight.  They  know  too 
much  about  each  other,  and  therefore  will  not  risk  too 
much."  ^ 

"  I  pity  all  who  are  in  suffering,  be  they  evil  or 
good,"  said  Mrs.  Hofland.  "  And,  somehow,  I  pity 
this  woman.  The  good  have  much  to  sustain  them 
when  night  falls,  and  pain  oppresses.  But,  to  one  like 
Mrs.  Justin,  there  is  no  balm  in  Gilead.  If  there  is  an 
open  rupture  with,  and  separation  from  her  husband, 
the  dark  days  of  her  life  have  come.  I  never  believed 
however,  after  the  way  in  which  her  step-children  were 
treated,  that  any  good  was  in  store  for  her.  It  was  not 
wise  to  alienate  Adam.  A  bond  of  interest  would  have 
held  him  ;  and  he  might  have  been,  at  this  time,  a 
powerful  friend.  He  is  said  to  be  growing  rich.''' 

"  Like  his  father,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  he  knows, 
by  a  kind  of  instinct,  where  the  veins  of  metal  lie,  and 
rarely  fails,  in  digging  down,  to  reach  them  on  the  first 
trial." 


22  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

4i  He  did  not  follow  in  his  father's  steps,  however ; 
did  not  become  a  merchant." 

44  No ;  but  tried  the  lottery  and  exchange  business. 
His  love  of  money  led  him  to  prefer  a  closer  contact 
with  the  precious  thing,  and  a  quicker  result.  Stocks, 
that  enrich  so4nany  and  ruin  so  many,  he  never  tries, 
I  am  told.  But  his  property  investments  are  large,  and 
most  of  them  in  improving  neighborhoods.  In  the  sim 
ple  item  of  advance  in  real  estate,  I  have  heard  his  gains 
estimated  at  almost  fabulous  sums." 

"  Is  he  getting  rich  so  very  fast  ?  " 

"  We  must  take  all  these  reports  with  grains  of  allow 
ance.  But,  you  know,  that  he  wedded  an  heiress." 

"  Miss  T .  Yes  ;  and  she  is  said  to  have  brought 

him  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  At  least  that." 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  spoke  up  Annie,  the  youngest 
daughter,  who  had  until  now,  made  no  remarks,  "  I 
would  not  have  taken  her  for  a  wife,  had  her  fortune 
been  twice  fifty  thousand.  Homely  and .  disagreeable  ! 
Faugh  !  " 

44  She  is  no  beauty,"  remarked  the  Doctor. 

44  She's  coarse  and  vulgar !  "  said  Annie,  with  some 
warmth. 

44  She  could  hardly  be  otherwise,"  said  Mrs.  Hofland, 
44  for  both  father  and  mother  were  coarse  and  vulgar. 
I  remember,  very  well,  when  they  kept  a  shop  in  West 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  23 

Market  street  for  the  purchase  of  old  iron  and  rags. 
He  was  miserly,  and  his  wife  a  woman,  I  should  think,  af 
ter  his  own  heart.  In  the  course  of  time,  a  part  of  the  low 
er  floor  of  their  house  was  fitted  up  for  a  dram  shop,  and 
here,  at  almost  any  hour  in  the  twenty-four,  from  six 
in  the  morning  until  ten  or  eleven  at  night,  you  could 

have  seen  Mrs.  T ,  waiting  on  her  customers,  black 

and  white.     A  few  years  more  and  the  old  iron,  rag, 

and  dram  shop  were  closed,  and  Mr.  T presented 

himself  to  the  public  behind  the  counters  of  a  well- 
stocked  retail  grocery.  From  this  period,  Mrs.  T 

was  no  more  seen  in  public  life.  But,  she-  began  to 
show  herself  in  vulgar  finery  on  the  street,  and  to  seek 
to  intrude  herself  among  people  of  refinement  and  educa 
tion.  In  this  last  essay,  she  attained  only  a  limited 
success.  The  sphere  of  her  true  quality  was  too  dense, 
and  thus  too  easily  perceived.  True  refinement  could 
not  breathe  freely  in  her  presence.  The  daughter  «;rew 
up  undisciplined,  poorly  educated,  and  coarse  within 
and  without.  At  her  father's  death,  she  became  the 
possessor  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and,  by  virtue  of  this 
golden  attraction,  won  the  admiration  of  Adam  Guy, 
and  bought  herself  a  husband." 

"  Bought !  You  may  well  say  bought."  Annie  spoke 
with  ill-concealed  disgust.  "  But  think,  how  low  the 
idea  of  marriage  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Guy.  To  take 
such  a  woman  into  so  intimate  a  life-relationship,  just 


24  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

for  money  !     Isn't  it  shocking  —  disgusting  —  painful. 
Ho  is  not  wedded  to  a  wife,  but  to  gold. 

"  All  base  cupidities,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  have  a  trans 
muting  power,  working  inversely  to  that  of  the  fabled 
stone  sought  for  by  old  alchemists,  and  wholly  changing 
the  relation  of  values.  In  Adam's  case,  the  earthly 
dross  was  rendered  invaluable,  while  the  divinely  en 
dowed  soul  sunk  to  a  poor  insignificance  ;  and  he  seized 
the  one  with  avidity,  while  almost  spurning,  with  con 
tempt,  the  other.  He  could  not  understand  nor  appre 
ciate  a  heart ;  but  in  yellow  gold  he  saw  beauty  and  per 
fection." 

"  It  is  sad  ;  very  sad ; "  remarked  Mrs.  Hofland. 
"  These  things  always  pain  me.  But,  now  that  we  are 
speaking  of  Adam,  the  thought  of  poor  Lydia  comes 
into  my  mind.  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  her?  " 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head  in  a  sober  way. 

"  Her  father  not  only  disowned,  but  disinherited  her." 

"  So  I  have  understood.  Poor  child !  I'm  afraid 
she  has  found  her  way  in  life  along  rough  and  thorny 
paths.  But,  these  oftener  lead  to  final  peace,  than  more 
flowery  ones." 

"  I  fear  that  she  did  not,  in  marrying,  act  wisely." 

"  Few  act  wisely  who  wed  as  she  wedded.  I  never 
saw  her  husband,  but,  from  the  little  I  gathered  from 
Lydia,  he  was  weak  and  inferior,  and  love  was  not  the 
power  that  moved  him  to  the  conquest  of  her  heart." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  25 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Brady,  I  think." 

"  John  is  dead." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  Intemperance  and  de 
bauchery  made  quick  work  with  him." 

"  There  was  another  son." 

"  Yes.     I  saw  him  to-day." 

"What  of  him?" 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  "  No  credit  to  himself, 
or  to  any  one  else,  I'm  afraid.  He  received  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  dollars  on  becoming  of  age,  and  lived 
fast  for  two  or  three  years,  when  he  found  himself  pen 
niless,  and  of  course,  friendless.  The  habits  acquired 
during  this  spending  term,  were,  in  no  way,  favorable. 
But,  necessity  is  a  stern  disciplinarian.  He  had  to 
work,  or  starve  ;  and  so  sought  employment  among  our 
merchants.  The  small  salary  at  command  of  an  indif 
ferent  clerk,  was  not  sufficient  for  the  habits  of  one  like 
Edwin  Guy.  He  lost  his  place  in  a  few  months.  Ru 
mor  gave  the  reason,  and  it  was  not  honorable  to  the 
young  man.  Again  he  found  a  place,  and  kept  it  long 
er  ;  but,  not  over  a  year.  He  was  far  from  being  well 
enough  disciplined  for  the  position  of  a  clerk.  Then 
he  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  clique  of  politicians,  who 
have  used  him  ever  since.  Being  neither  honest  nor 
scrupulous  ;  yet  having  a  specious  exterior,  and  some 
smartness,  he  is  just  the  kind  of  implement  for  them  to 
2 


26  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

i 

work  with.  Of  course,  the  workman  must  live,  and  he 
has  a  place  in  the  Custom  House,  which  lie  holds  in 
virtue  of  his  willingness  and  ability  to  serve  the  party 
in  power." 

"  I  would  rather  my  son  were  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Hof- 
land,  with  feeling.  "  Poor  Lydia  I  To  think  that  her 
child  should  come  to  this  !  " 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments,  when  Mrs. 
Hofland  went  on. 

"  There  was  one  more  child  —  the  youngest  —  a 
daughter.  What  has  become  of  her  ?  She  must  now 
be  at  least  twenty-four  years  of  age." 

"  She  is  not  with  her  step-mother.  At  least,  I  have 
not  seen  them  together  for  a  long  time." 

"  She  was  sent  away  to  school,  and  alienated  from 
home  as  much  as  possible ;  treated,  as  I  have  under 
stood,  more  like  a  stranger,  than  a  child." 

"  Her  father's  will  gave  her  a  few  thousands  of  dol 
lars,"  said  Doctor  Hofland.  "  Some  fortune-hunter,  in  a 
small  way  —  or  one  whose  imagination  increased  her 
ten  thousand  to  fifty  or  sixty  —  has,  in  all  probability, 
drawn  her  from  lonely  and  desolate  ways,  and  blessed 
or  cursed  her  life  in  marriage." 

"  I  have  little  confidence  in  the  blessing,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Hofland.  "Little  —  very  little.  My  poor  friend  Ly 
dia  !  —  so  true  hearted,  so  pure,  so  good  ;  to  think,  that 
it  is  of  your  children  that  we  are  now  speaking.  Alas  I 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  27 

Alas  !  It  has  been  well  said,  that  marriage  is  a  bless 
ing  or  a  curse  —  a  good  or  an  evil  —  the  road  to  happi 
ness  or  misery.  With  a  husband  of  another  quality, 
what  a  different  life  would  have  opened  for  my  friend. 
To-day  she  might  be  sitting  among  us,  crowned  with 
Messing." 

Doctor  Hofland  now  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the 
table,  and  resting  his  hands  on  the  arms,  was  about 
rising. 

"  Why,  father !  "  said  his  daughter,  Lena,  "  you  are 
not  going  away  from  us  yet  ?  " 

u  Yes.  I  have  several  patients  who  must  have  an 
early  call  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  bad.  Can't  they  give  you  one 
half-hour  ?  "  asked  Lena. 

"  Sickness  will  not  wait,  my  child.  We  must  not 
prolong  our  enjoyments  at  the  expense  of  others'  suffer 
ings.  But,  I  will  be  home  again  in  an  hour." 

And  the  Doctor  bent  over  his  grandson,  who  sat  next 
him  in  a  high  chair,  and  left  a  warm  kiss  upon  each 
ruddy  cheek. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  and  he  was  out  in  the 
clear,  cold  air  of  a  January  night,  on  his  way  to  Green 
street,  near  Franklin,  to  see  the  sick  child  of  a  stranger, 
who  had  sent  to  ask  his  aid. 


CHAPTER  II. 


HE  house  was  small  and  poor.     A  dim 
)VJL   light  shone  through  one  of  the  second 
*^-^  story  windows,  and  the  Doctor  could 
see,  as  he  looked  up,  a  shadow  on  the 


ceiling,  as  of  some  person  walking  in 
the  room  above.  His  knock  at  the 
door  was  almost  immediately  answered 
by  a  child,  who  held  a  candle  elevated 
above  her  head. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Ewbank  live  here  ?  " 
"  Oh,  it's  you,  Doctor  !     Walk  in,  please." 
Doctor  Hofland  recognized  his  visitor  of  the  evening. 
The  child  stepped  back,  and  he  entered,  closing  the 
door.     He  was  in  a  room  instead  of  a  hall,  the  door 
opening  directly  on  the  street. 

"  I'll  call  mother,"  said  the  child,  as  she  set  the  can 
dlestick  on  a  table.     "  Please  to  take  a  chair,  sir." 

The  few  minutes  that  intervened  before  Mrs.  Ewbank 
came'  down,  gave  Doctor  Hofland  an  opportunity  to 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  29 

make,  by  the  feeble  light  of  a  single  tallow  candle,  a  run 
ning  inventory  of  what  was  in  the  room.  The  floor  had 
no  carpet.  Five  old  cane-seat  chairs  were  against  the 
walls,  and  a  small  mahogany  table,  dark  and  dim  with 
age,  stood  under  the  window,  which  had  neither  shade  nor 
blind.  A  papered  fireboard  concealed  the  hearth.  Two 
small  frames  hung  just  over  the  mantel-piece,  but  the 
light  was  so  feeble  that  the  Doctor  could  not  make 
out  from  where  he  sat,  whether  they  contained  miniature 
portraits  or  fancy  pictures.  An  impulse  of  curiosity  led 
him  to  cross  the  room  for  the  purpose  of  examining  them 
closely.  They  were  evidently  miniatures,  one  of  a  man, 
and  the  other  of  a  woman,  in  the  ripeness  of  early  prime. 
The  first  impression  was  that  of  familiar  faces  ;  but  not 
being  able  to  make  out  the  features  distinctly,  he  was 
turning  for  the  candle,  when  a  woman  entered  the 
apartment.  She  had  descended  the  stairs  so  noiselessly, 
that  her  coming  was  not  observed. 

Though  scant  and  poor,  the  room  was  clean  and  order 
ly  ;  a  fact  which  the  Doctor  had  not  failed  to  observe. 
He  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  to  see  in  Mrs.  Ewbank 
a  neat,  though  plainly  attired  person.  She  wore  a  dark 
wrapper,  carefully  buttoned,  and  her  hair  was  evenly 
parted,  and  brushed  smoothly  away  over  her  temples. 
Though  apparently  some  years  past  thirty,  and  showing 
signs  of  wasting  sickness,  or  of  trouble  that  exhausts 
more  than  sickness,  her  eyes  were  large  and  bright, 


30  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

with  something  of  youthful  fire  in  them,  that  a  mother's 
present  anxieties  could  not  extinguish.  What  most  im 
pressed  the  Doctor,  was  the  refined  aspect  of  her  coun 
tenance,  and  the  manner,  which  showed  cultivation. 

"  Doctor  Hofland,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  yet  fixing 
her  eyes  intently  upon  his  face,  and  in  a  questioning  man 
ner.  The  tone  struck  him  as  familiar,  and  stirred  for  a 
moment  old  feelings,  in  a  vague,  uncertain  way.  But 
he  failed  to  recognize  in  her  features  those  of  an  acquain 
tance  or  friend. 

"  Mrs.  Ewbank  ?  "  he  responded. 

"  Yes  sir." 

"You  have  a  sick  child?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     Will  you  walk  up  and  see  him  ?  " 

She  led  the  way,  and  Doctor  Hofland  ascended  to  one 
of  the  chambers  above.  He  found  the  furniture  almost 
as  meagre  as  in  the  room  below ;  but  the  same  order 
and  cleanliness  prevailed.  On  the  bed  lay  an  emaciated 
child,  a  year  old,  in  whose  pinched  features  he  saw  at 
the  first  glance  a  sign  of  approaching  death. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  sick  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor,  as 
he  sat  down,  and  laid  his  fingers  on  the  wasted  little 
hand,  limp  as  a  wilted  leaf. 

"  He's  never  been  a  well  child  since  he  was  born, 
Doctor." 

There  was  something  so  familiar  in  the  answering 
voice  that  Doctor  Hofland  looked  up  curiously  into  the 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  31 

woman's  face.  She  turned  partly  away,  as  if  to  avoid 
the  scrutiny. 

"  What  seems  particularly  to  ail  him  ?  How  is  he 
affected  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you,  Doctor.  He  cries  a  great 
deal,  and  don't  eat.  There's  something  the  matter  in 
wardly." 

A  slight  spasm  went  shuddering  through  the  little 
frame,  and  a  low  cry  cut  the  air.  A  moment,  and  it 
was  gone,  and  the  pinched  features  settled  into  quiet 
again.  The  Doctor  bent  down,  and  examined  the  face 
carefully.  While  doing  so,  a  man  in  the  next  room 
coughed  two  or  three  times,  at  which  he  raised  him 
self  and  listened,  noting,  with  a  professional  ear,  the 
sound. 

"  My  husband,"  said  the  woman. 

He  turned  to  the  sick  child  again,  watching  its  face, 
and  observing  the  respiration.  He  then  wrote  a  pre 
scription. 

"  Send  for  this,  and  give  him  one  of  the  powders 
every  hour  through  the  night  when  not  sleeping.  If  he 
sleeps,  don't  disturb  him." 

"  Do  you  think  him  very  ill  ?  "  asked  the  mother,  in 
an  anxious  voice. 

"  He's  a  sick  child."  What  less  could  the  Doctor 
say,  when  he  saw  death  written  all  over  the  ashen  face  ? 

"  But  you  can  help  him,  Doctor  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ewbank, 
in  a  pleading  voice. 


32  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  seen  him  earlier," 
remarked  the  Doctor.  He  wished  to  prepare  her  for 
what  seemed  inevitable. 

"  I  know  it  was  wrong  in  me  not  to  send,"  the  poor 

mother  answered,  in  a  distressed  way.  "But " 

She  checked  herself,  and  left  the  words  that  were  on 
her  tongue  unspoken. 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  before  ?  "  The  Doctor's  in 
terest  was  still  further  awakened. 

But  Mrs.  Ewbank  did  not  reply  immediately,  and  in 
the  pause  that  followed,  the  sound  of  coughing  was 
again  heard  in  the  next  room. 

"  How  long  has  your  husband  been  coughing  in  that 
way  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Only  about  a  week,  so  badly.  But,  he's  coughed 
for  a  long  time." 

"  Has  he  taken  medicine,  or  seen  a  physician,  within 
a  week  ?  " 

"  We  got  some  cough  mixture  from  a  druggist's ;  but 
that  only  relieved  him  for  a  little  while.  It  kind  of 
stupefies  him.? 

"And  leaves  the  cough  harder  afterwards ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     He's  worse  when  the  effect  passes  off." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  There  was  a  pause,  and 
then  he  asked, 

"  Shall  I  not  see  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Doctor  !     If  you  will !  "     Hope  and  gratitude 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  33 

were  in  her  face  —  and  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Wait  just 
a  moment,"  she  added;  and  then  passed  into  the  cham 
ber  where  her  husband  lay,  to  prepare  him  for  the  Doc 
tor's  visit.  She  came  back  quickly,  saying  —  "  Now 
Doctor,"  and  the  physician  entered.  Though  every 
thing,  as  perceived  by  the  feeble  rays  of  a  single  poor 
candle,  was  clean  as  in  the  other  rooms,  and  in  order, 
yet  the  articles  were  scant ;  and  the  whole  air  of  the 
apartment  dreary.  The  remains  of  a  wood  fire  smoul 
dered  on  the  hearth,  but  there  was  little  pervading 
warmth  in  the  atmosphere. 

At  a  glance,  Doctor  Hofland  saw  that  Mr.  Ewbank 
was  not  a  coarse  or  common  man.  His  mouth  and  nose 
were  cleanly  cut ;  his  eyes  full  of  intelligence ;  and  his 
purely  white  forehead  of  ample  breadth.  His  hair  was 
very  dark  and  fine,  and  curled  back  from  the  transpar 
ent  skin  of  his  temples,  through  which  was  perceived 
the  azure  net  work  of  veins. 

"  My  husband,  Mr.  Ewbank :  Doctor  Hofland." 
There  was  an  air  of  refinement  about  Mrs.  Ewbank, 
now  more  particularly  observed.  Not  much  change 
took  place  in  the  countenance  of  her  husband  ;  though, 
as  the  Doctor  sat  down,  and  laid  his  fingers  on  his  pulse, 
he  kept  his  large  bright  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  him. 

"  You  have  a  fever,"  remarked  the  Doctor. 

"  Yes,  I've  been  feverish  for  some  days."     A  fit  of 

coughing  followed  this  reply. 
2* 


34  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  What  excites  this  cough  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  A  creeping  and  tickling  here  in  the  throat  pit.  And 
he  touched  the  spot. 

"  Does  the  coughing  produce  pain  ?  " 

"  Now  it  does.  The  jarring  seems  to  have  hurt  my 
chest." 

"  The  pain  is  not  lancinating  or  acute  ?  " 

"  No  —  it  is  a  sore  pain,  as  if  the  lungs  were  bruised.'' 

Still  holding  the  patient's  wrist,  the  Doctor  bent  his 
head  thoughtfully  for  some  moments.  Then  he  asked — 

"  May  I  see  the  cough  mixture  you  have  been  tak- 
ing?"" 

Mrs.  Ewbank  went  to  a  closet  and  brought  out  a  large 
vial.  After  smelling  and  tasting  the  contents,  the  Doc 
tor  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  think  it  has  done  him  any  harm  ?  "  the  wife 
asked,  with  much  apparent  anxiety. 

"  It  has  done  him  no  good,  at  least.  Don't  give  him 
any  more  of  it." 

"  It  contains  opium,"  remarked  the  patient. 

"  Yes,  and  gave  you  a  temporary  relief.  But,  when 
the  effect  wore  off,  your  cough  was  dryer  and  harder 
than  before." 

"  That  was  just  the  effect." 

"  And  you  have  grown  more  feverish  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  will  give  you  something  better."     The  Doctor 


4 

WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  35 

spoke  with  cheerful  confidence,  and  drawing  a  memo 
randum  book  from  his  pocket,  in  which  were  some  loose 
bits  of  paper,  wrote  a  prescription. 

"  Take,  according  to  directions  accompanying  the 
medicine,  and  I  think,  when  I  call  to-morrow  morning, 
that  I  shall  find  a  decided  improvement." 

The  Doctor  noticed  a  gleam  of  hopeful  light  break 
over  Mrs.  Ewbank's  face.  He  then  retired,  and,  in  pass 
ing  through  the  next  room,  stopped  to  look  at  the  sick 
child  again. 

"  He  is  sleeping,"  said  the  mother,  in  a  whisper,  as 
she  stooped  over  the  bed. 

The  Doctor  did  not  reply.  After  standing  there  a 
few  moments,  he  turned  and  left  the  chamber ;  Mrs. 
Ewbank  following  him  down  stairs. 

"  You  will  come  in  the  morning  ?  "  she  said. 

"  O,  yes.  I'll  be  round  early."  There  was  some 
thing  unspoken  in  her  thought,  and  he  paused  that  she 
might  give  it  utterance.  But  she  stood  silent,  and  evi 
dently  in  debate  with  herself.  He  was  moving  towards 
the  door  again,  when  she  said  — 

"  Doctor,"  apparently  speaking  under  self-compulsion. 
He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  kind  encouragement 
in  his  face. 

"  Is  there  a  Dispensary  in  the  neighborhood  ?  "  Her 
voice  shook,  and  a  flush  came  to  her  pale  cheeks.  Doc 
tor  Hofland  understood  too  well  the  meaning  of  this 


36  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

question.  Moving  back  from  the  door,  he  regarded  her, 
earnestly,  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  read  that  in  her 
wasted  countenance,  of  which  he  had  not  guessed  in  the 
beginning  —  read  of  hunger,  and  the  exhaustion  of  life 
through  lack  of  food.  Under  the  sharp  inquiry  of  his 
eyes,  she  shrunk  back,  and  held  the  candle  so  that  her 
face  would  be  more  in  shadow. 

"  Send  your  little  girl  with  me,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Mrs  Ewbank  moved  to  the  stairway  and  called  — 
"  Esther  ! " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  was  the  child's  response,  and  in  a 
moment  quick  feet  were  heard  in  the  chamber  above. 

"  Bring  your  hood,  the  Doctor  wants  you  to  go  with 
him." 

"  It  is  cold  out,  my  dear,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  look 
ing  narrowly  at  the  child,  as  she  came  down  stairs. 
"  Haven't  you  a  cloak,  or  a  coat  ?  That  shawl  is  too 
thin." 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  warm  enough,"  was  answered,  in  a  brave, 
cheerful  way.  And  so  they  went  out  together.  The 
nearest  drug  store  was  at  a  distance  of  three  squares. 
On  the  way,  Doctor  Hofland  asked  a  few  leading  ques 
tions,  in  order  to  gain,  without  drawing  his  companion 
into  undue  communicativeness,  some  idea  of  the  condi 
tion  of  things  at  home. 

"  Have  you  always  lived  in  Baltimore  ?  "  was  one  of 
his  questions. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  37 

"  Oh  no,  sir.     We  haven't  lived  here  very  long." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Maybe  about  a  year." 

"  Where  did  you  live  before  you  came  to  Baltimore  ?  " 

"  In  Albany." 

"  State  of  New  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  your  father  keep  a  store  in  Albany  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir.     He  kept  a  school." 

"  Ah  I     A  school  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  But  he  got  sick,  and  lost  it.  And  then 
we  came  here." 

"  Has  your  father  taught  since  he  has  been  in  this 
city?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  for  a  little  while ;  but  not  in  his  own  school." 

"  He  gave  lessons  in  somebody  else's  school  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  he  teach?" 

"  Latin  and  Greek,  sir.     But  he  can  teach  anything." 

"  He  doesn't  give  lessons  now  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  They  got  another  man  in  his  place  ;  and 
he's  been  too  sick  to  teach  for  a  good  while." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  they  got  another  man  in  his 
place  ?  " 

The  child  thought  for  some  moments,  and  then  replied, 

"  Ever  since  August.     I  know  h\from  my  birth-day." 

"  That  was  in  August  ?  " 


38  WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  old  were  you  then  ?  " 

"  I  was  eight  years  old,  sir." 

"  Eight  years.     And  your  name  is  Esther  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"  Called  after  your  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  after  my  grandmother.     But  she's  dead." 

They  were  now  at  the  druggist's  shop,  and  entering, 
Doctor  Hofland  ordered  the  two  prescriptions.  While 
they  were  being  prepared,  he  scanned  the  child's  face 
closely.  Some  would  have  called  it  handsome  ;  but  he 
saw  in  its  regular  oval  so  many  signs  of  endurance  and 
suffering,  that,  as  he  gazed  upon  it,  his  heart  was  touched. 

"  Give  me  two  packages  of  oat  meal,"  he  said,  to 
the  druggist,  as  he  received  the  compounded  medicines. 
"  Now,  Esther,"  turning  to  the  child,  "  tell  your  moth 
er  to  make  a  large  bowl  of  gruel,  and  let  your  father 
drink  as  much  of  it  as  he  can." 

"Before  he  takes  his  medicine?"  asked  the  child, 
lifting  her  earnest  eyes  to  the  Doctor's  face. 

"  Yes.  First  the  gruel,  remember  ;  and  if  his  cough 
doesn't  trouble  him,  he  needn't  take  the  medicine  for  an 
hour  afterwards.  Good  night,  dear.  Run  home  as  fast 
as  you  can  ;  and  tell  your  mother  by  no  means  to  omit 
the  gruel." 


CHAPTER  III. 

'HEN  Doctor  Hofland  came  back 
to  his  office,  lie  found  a  man  await 
ing  his  return  —  a  young  man, 
with  a  hard,  sensual  face,  and 
something  of  a  dissolute  air. 

"  Doctor  Hofland,"  said  the  visit 
or,  rising,  with  a  respectful  man 
ner,  as  the  Doctor  came  in.     The 
Doctor  bowed,  in  assent. 

"  Can  I  have  a  few  words  with  you  confidentially  ?  " 
"  I  presume  so,"  replied   the   Doctor.     "  Be  seated 
again." 

The  young  man  sat  down.     His  manner  was  disturb 
ed,  and  a  little  mysterious. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  trying,  though  with  only  with 
partial  success,  to  assume  a  cool  demeanor,  "  that  you 
were  acquainted  with  my  father,  the  late  Adam  Guy." 
"  Yes,  sir,  I  knew  him." 
"  You  attended  him,  in  his  last  dreadful  illness." 


40  WHAT  CAME  AFTERWARDS. 

"  I  was  not  his  physician,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  But  you  visited  him,  I  know  ;  for  I  saw  you  at  our 
house." 

"  I  was  called  in,  as  consulting  physician,  and  saw 
him  for  a  few  times." 

"  Exactly.  That  is  sufficient.  Now,  Doctor,  you 
may  not  know  it  —  but  there  was  foul  play  with  my 
father;  and  I'm  bound  to  rip  up  the  whole  business. 
I'm  going  to  sift  matters  to  the  bottom."  s 

"  Foul  play  in  what  respect.?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  In  all  respects.  That  she-devil,  his  wife  —  excuse 
me  !  but  I  always  lose  myself  when  I  think  of  her  — 
managed  to  rob  us  children  of  nearly  the  whole  of  our 
father's  property,  by  means  of  a  will  that,  I  am  satisfi 
ed,  could  be  broken  in  law.  And  I'm  going  to  break 
it.  Now,  Doctor,  you  can  help  me.  You  attended  my 
father,  and  know  whether  he  was  in  condition  to  make 
a  will.  If  it  can  be  proved  that  he  was  non  compos  at 
the  date  of  the  will,  then  it  is  thrown  overboard,  and 
we  come  in,  as  heirs  at  law,  for  an  equitable  division  of 
the  estate.  You  see  how  it  is,  Doctor.  What  do  you 
think  ?  What  is  your  opinion  ?  Was  the  old  gentle 
man  sound  or  not  ?  Fit  to  make  a  will  or  not  ?  " 

Disgust  struggled  with  pity  in  Doctor  Hofland's  mind, 
and  kept  him  silent.  Edwin  Guy  scanned  him  sharply, 
trying  to  read  his  thoughts. 

"  What  is  your  opinion,  Doctor  ?  "     The  young  man 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  41 

was  impatient  for  a  response.  "  Of  course,  you  have 
an  opinion.  You  were  with  him.  You  saw  exactly  how 
it  was.  You  know  whether  he  was  sane  enough  to  make 
a  will." 

Doctor  Hofland  thought  as  rapidly  as  possible,  before 
committing  himself  in  a  reply. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Guy's  youngest  son  ?  "  he  said,  avoid 
ing  the  answer  that  was  expected. 

"  Yes  sir,  I  am.     Edwin  Guy  is  my  name." 

"  Your  brother  John  is  dead  ?  " 

"He  is." 

"  What  of  Adam,  your  oldest  brother?  Is  he  going 
to  move  with  you  in  this  matter  ?  " 

There  was  a  change  in  the  young  man's  face  —  an 
ger  and  contempt  swept  over  it. 

"  No,  sir  !  The  will  was  adroitly  made,  giving  him 
the  full  sum  to  which  he  would  have  been  entitled  in  a 
legal  division  of  my  father's  estate.  That  settled  him. 
Pocketing  his  share,  he  turned  his  back  upon  the  young 
er  children,  and  left  them  a  prey  to  robbers.  Thus 
bribed  to  abandon  us  toour  fate,  I  hold  him  as  an  accom 
plice  with  my  step-mother  and  that  precious  scoundrel, 
her  husband.  But  right  is  right,  Doctor,  and  I'm  go 
ng  to  see  this  matter  through.  If  I  can  establish  the 
fact  that  my  father  was  not  in  a  sane  condition  when 
the  will  was  made,  there  will  be  a  new  distribution  of 
property,  to  the  advantage  of  myself  and  sisters." 


42  WHAT-   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  What  of  your  sisters,  Mr.  Guy  ?  Where  are 
they?" 

This  question  dashed  the  young  man.  He  reddened, 
and  then  stammered  an  admission  that  he  was  not  par 
ticularly  advised  in  regard  to  them. 

"  What  about  Lydia  ?     Is  she  in  Baltimore  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Doctor,  I  am  unable  to  speak  with  any 
certainty  in  regard  to  her.  She  threw  herself  away, 
as  you  perhaps  know,  in  a  disgraceful  marriage,  and  be 
came  separated  from  the  family.  Nothing  has  been 
heard  of  her,  so  far  as  I  am  advised,  since  our  father's 
death.  My  step-mother  may  know  something  of  her 
whereabouts  ;  but  as  we  have  been  strangers  for  years, 
no  information  that  she  possesses  would  be  likely  to 
reach  me." 

"  She  may  be  dead,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Possible."  There  was  not  even  a  pretence  of 
feeling  in  the  young  man's  voice. 

"  You  have  a  younger  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  Frances." 

"  Is  she  living  with  your  step-mother  ?  " 

"I  think  not." 

"  When  did  you  see  her  ?  " 

The  young  man  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and 
mused  for  some  time. 

"  It's  over  two  years  since  I  saw  Frances,"  he  said, 
at  length,  with  as  much  indifference  as  though  not  a 
drop  of  kindred  blood  were  in  their  veins. 


WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS.  43 

"  Is  she  married  ?  " 

"  I've  never  heard  of  such  an  event." 

So  thoroughly  disgusted  was  Doctor  Hofland  with 
the  unfeeling,  almost  brutal  spirit  shown  by  Edwin  Guy, 
that  he  felt  no  inclination  to  aid  him  in  any  effort  to 
break  the  will  of  his  father. 

"  If  called  to  give  evidence,"  said  the  visitor,  going 
back  to  the  leading  purpose  in  his  thought,  "  how 
clearly  could  you  state  the  case?  In  other  words,  if 
asked  whether  my  father  were  sane  or  insane,  what 
would  be  your  answer?  " 

"  There  are  degrees  of  insanity,"  replied  the  Doctor, 
"  and  it  would  be  for  the  court  to  decide,  on  the  par 
ticulars  of  evidence,  its  estimate  of  the  degree  in  your 
father's  case.  There  was  certainly  a  temporary  de 
rangement  of  the  faculties." 

o 

"  Temporary !  Anything  but  that,  Doctor  ?  It 
proved  to  be  inveterate.  You  are  aware  that  the  fam 
ily  was  compelled  to  send  him  to  an  asylum,  where,  in 
the  violence  of  his  insanity,  he  threw  himself  from  a 
window  and  was  killed." 

"  Did  it  never  cross  your  mind,"  asked  the  Doctor, 
dropping  his  voice  to  a  more  serious  tone,  "  that  in  the 
precipitate  removal  of  your  father  from  our  Maryland 
Hospital  to  a  private  mad  house  in  another  state,  some 
wrong  may  have  been  involved  ?  " 

"  Wrong  ?     Wrong,  sir  ?     I  am  not  sure  that  I  take 


44  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

your  meaning."  There  was  a  sudden  knitting  of  the 
young  man's  brows. 

"  I  never  assented  to  his  being  taken  from  home  in 
the  first  place." 
"  Ah  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     In  my  view,  the  case  did   not   threaten 

the  disaster  that  followed.     Doctor  L ,  who  is  now 

dead,  was  your  family  physician,  and  I  was  called,  I 
think,  at  your  father's  desire.  But  without  advising 
with  me,  and  certainly  against  my  judgment,  he  was 
taken  to  the  Hospital  while  under  the  influence  of  an 
opiate.  In  a  few  days,  he  was  so  much  better,  that 
the  resident  physician  consented  to  his  being  removed 

by   Doctor   L- and  your   step-mother.     I   learned 

this  on  personal  inquiry  at  the  Hospital.  You  may 
judge  of  my  surprise  when,  not  long  afterwards,  the 
fact  came  out  that  instead  of  being  taken  home,  he  was 
borne  off  to  the  private  asylum  where  he  died." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Edwin  Guy,  starting  to  his 
feet,  with  lowering  brows,  and  eyes  that  had  in  them  a 
strange  glitter. 

"  That  is  so,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  Who  took  him  to  the  Hospital  ?  " 

Without  reflecting  as  to  the  prudence  of  his  answer, 
Doctor  Hofland  replied  — 

"  Mr.  Larobe  and  your  step-mother. 

"  Ha !      Larobe  !      Good  !      I   begin  to  see  light ! 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  45 

Something  wrong  ?  Of  course  there  was  something 
wrong  ! " 

And  the  young  man  stalked  backwards  and  forwards 
across  the  office  in  a  wild,  excited  manner.  But  sud 
denly  composing  himself,  he  sat  down  close  to  the  Doc 
tor,  and  bending  towards  him,  said,  while  he  rubbed 
his  hands  in  suppressed  excitement  and  expectation  — 

"  What  else  ?  Mr.  Larobe  was  with  my  step-mother 
—  her  accomplice  in  the  matter.  And  they  took  him 
from  the  Hospital,  and  removed  him  to  a  distant  asy 
lum  ?  " 

"  No ;  Doctor  L accompanied  your  mother  when 

your  father  was  taken  from  the  Hospital." 

"  Doctor  L ,  oh  !  "  There  was  a  tone  of  disap 
pointment.  "  But  no  matter.  The  thing  is  plain  as 
daylight.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  hint. 
Something  wrong !  I  believe  you !  I  always  said 
that  woman  was  capable  of  anything;  and  I  always 
said  that  her  day  would  come.  Murder  will  out,  you 
know,  Doctor ;  and  it's  coming  out  now." 

"  Don't  take  too  much  for  granted,"  replied  Doctor 
Hofland ;  "  I  have  only  given  you  a  fact  or  two,  and 
must  warn  you  against  quoting  or  involving  me  in  a 
single  item  beyond  what  I  have  said.  My  evidence  will 
only  serve  in  a  limited  degree  ;  and  if,  through  any 
eagerness  to  make  out  a  case,  you  rely  on  me  to  prove  a 
tittle  more  than  my  present  language  declares,  you  will 


46  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

damage  instead  of  promoting  the  cause  of  justice.  You 
have  all  that  I  know  or  think  it  advisable  to  suggest. 
In  my  view,  your  father's  case  was  a  simple  one,  and 
should  not  have  led  at  so  early  a  stage  of  aberration,  to 
his  removal  from  home.  If  the  will  dates  prior  to  this 
removal,  the  question  of  his  ability  to  devise  property 
is  an  open  one,  and  may  be  decided  by  the  courts  either 
way.  Unless  you  have  a  cloud  of  witnesses  to  prove 
insanity  as  existing  when  the  will  was  made,  an  attempt 
to  break  it  may  only  involve  you  in  years  of  costly  and 
fruitless  litigation." 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  the  advice,  Doctor,"  said  the 
young  man,  resuming  a  cool  exterior.  "  You've  set 
me  to  thinking  in  a  new  direction."  And  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  and  shut,  protruding  mouth,  he  sat  musing, 
with  an  occasional  satisfactory  nod  as  he  followed  the 
train  of  thought  which  had  been  awakened  in  his  mind. 
Then  rising  and  drawing  his  cloak  about  his  shoulders, 
he  bade  the  Doctor  good  evening,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


1ST  leaving  the  office  of  Doctor  Hof- 
land,  Edwin  Guy  walked  hastily  for 
several  blocks,  until  he  came  into  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Court  House, 
when  he  turned  down  St.  Paul's 
street.  Near  Fayette  street  he  en 
tered,  without  ringing,  one  of  the 
houses,  and  groped  his  way  along  an 
unlighted  passage,  to  the  back  room  on  the  first  floor. 
In  this  room,  furnished  as  a  lawyer's  office,  a  man  sat 
by  a  table,  writing.  He  looked  up  as  the  door  opened, 
showing  a  large  face  and  head,  and  a  pair  of  calm,  cold, 
steady  eyes.  His  age  was  about  forty. 

Guy,  after  shutting  the  door,  took  a  chair  at  the  ta 
ble  opposite  to  this  man^  and  then  they  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  "  The  lawyer,  for  that  was 
the  man's  profession,  spoke  first.  His  voice  was  firm 
and  penetrating,  yet  not  burdened  with  any  .special  in- 


48  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

terest.  A  close  observer,  and  one  skilled  in  human  na 
ture,  would  however  have  detected  beneath  his  unmoved 
exterior  a  wily,  alert  spirit. 

"  I  saw  him,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"  To  any  good  purpose  ?  " 

"You  will  think  so,  when  you  hear  what  I  have 
learned." 

"  The  Doctor's  evidence  will  serve  you  in  the  case  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that.  He  doesn't  think  my  father 
was  so  very  insane  when  taken  to  the  hospital." 

"  What  ?  "  The  lawyer  betrayed  a  momentary  im 
pulse  ;  for  instantly  his  thought  compassed  the  true 
significance  of  this  answer. 

"  There  has  been  foul  play  beyond  anything  I  had 
imagined,  Mr.  Glastonberry.  It  makes  my  hair  stand 
on  end  to  think  of  it." 

"  Foul  play  in  what  respect?  " 

"  In  respect  to  my  father." 

"  Doctor  Hofland  is  not  satisfied  that  he  was  insane  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  He  was  consulting  physician  at  the  time, 
and  they  removed  my  father  to  the  Hospital  while  stu 
pefied  '  with  opium,  without  a  word  of  conference  with 
him." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  It  is,  on  the  word  of  Doctor  Hofland  ;  and  I  reck 
on  he  wont  lie." 

"If  Doctor  Hofland  says  so,  you  may  believe  it." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  49 

"  Of  course  I  believe  it.  And  who,  think  you,  were 
the  accomplices  in  this  thing  ?  Who,  think  you,  con 
veyed  him  to  the  Hospital  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  guess." 

"  My  step-mother,  and Justin  Larobe  !  " 

«  No !  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  on  the  word  of  Doctor  Hofland,  as  de 
clared  to  me  this  night.  His  informotion  was  obtained 
from  the  resident  physician  at  the  Hospital,  of  whom 
he  made  inquiry  at  the  time.  And  I  learn  farther,  that 
in  the  few  days  my  father  remained  in  the  Hospital,  he 
improved  so  rapidly,  that  the  physician  made  no  objec 
tion  to  his  being  taken  home  again  at  the  request  of  my 
step-mother,  who,  in  company  with  the  late  Doctor 

L ,  then  our  family  physician,  called  in  a  carriage, 

and  removed  him." 

"  Taking  him  home  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     He  never  saw  home  again  !  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  He  never  saw  home  again.  A  short  time  after 
wards,  Dr.  Hofland  learned  to  his  amazement,  that  my 
father  had  been  taken  from  our  excellent  institution,  and 
placed  in  a  private  mad-house  on  Long  Island,  where 
the  catastrophe  occurred  that  ended  his  life." 

"  Grave  matters  are  involved  here,  my  young  friend," 
said  the  lawyer.  The  case  assumes  an  entirely  new 
aspect." 


50  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  It  does,  Mr.  Glastonberry.  I  saw  that  in  a  moment. 
I  question  now  whether  an  attempt  to  set  aside  the  will, 
under  an  allegation  of  insanity,  would  be  successful. 
The  testimony  of  Dr.  Hofland,  on  which  I  mainly  re 
lied,  would  damage  instead  of  helping  the  case.  He 
does  not  think  the  mental  disturbance  of  my  father  was 
at  all  serious  in  the  beginning." 

"  The  move,  if  now  attempted,  must  be  in  some  new 
direction,"  said  Mr.  Glastonberry,  dropping  his  head, 
and  partly  closing  his  eyes. 

"  One  thing  is  clear,"  remarked  Guy — "  Larobe  and 
my  step-mother  plotted  to  get  father  out  of  the  way, 
and  plotted  successfully.  Their  act  was  little  less  than 
murder.  It  can  be  proved  that  they  drugged  him  while 
sick,  and  then  carried  him  to  the  Hospital ;  and  further 
proved  that  he  was  taken  from  thence  in  an  improved 
condition,  and  sent  to  a  distant  asylum,  kept  by  an  irre 
sponsible  foreigner,  where  he  met  with  a  violent  death. 
An  ugly  look  all  that  would  have,  bruited  to  the  world 
in  a  court  of  justice." 

"  Very  ugly."  Mr.  Glastonberry  spoke  as  if  to  him 
self. 

"  If  successful  in  breaking  this  will,"  resumed  Edwin 
Guy,  "  there  will  be  so  many  to  share  in  the  estate,  that 
my  proportion  cannot  be  large." 

"  How  many  children  are  there  ?  " 

"  Six  or  seven  —  six,  if  my  sister  Lydia  is  dead  ;  and 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  51 

I  guess,  seeing  that  nothing  has  been  heard  from  her  in 
eight  or  ten  years,  that  she  is  safely  out  of  this  trouble 
some  world." 

"  She  may  have  left  children." 

Guy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  frowned,  saying  — 

"  I  didn't  think  of  that." 

"  Say  seven  children ;  and  the  law  will  give  your 
step-mother  one-third  of  the  estate." 

"  And  her  three  cursed  imps  nearly  half  of  what  re 
mains,  after  that  great  slice  is  taken  out,"  growled  the 
young  man. 

Just  so.  The  whole  estate  possessed  by  your  father 
at  the  time  of  his  decease,  you  estimate  in  round  num 
bers  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

«  Yes." 

"  Deduct  your  step-mother's  one-third,  and  we  have 
left  about  one  hundred  and  sixty-seven  thousand  dollars, 
to  divide  between  seven  persons,  or  something  ovei 
twenty-three  thousand  to  each.  It  will  be  safe  to  call 
this  twenty  thousand.  Now  you  have  already  received 
ten  thousand  dollars  under  the  will.  As  a  fee  for  re-1 
covering  the  balance,  you  offer  me  one-half.  The  case 
may  be  on  trial  for  half-a-dozen  years.  Larobe  is  a 
hard  man  to  fight  at  law.  Does  this  view  look  entic- 
ing?" 

"  No,  sir,  it  does  not ;"  was  the  strongly  spoken  an 
swer.  O 


52  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  Our  fox  may  prove  too  swift  for  us  in  the  open 
field  ;  we  must  hunt  him  under  cover." 

"  Just  my  own  conclusion.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Glas 
tonberry,  to  speak  outright  and  downright,  I'm  for  get 
ting  my  own  in  the  surest  and  safest  way.  Larobe 
and  his  she-devil  of  a  wife  must  disgorge  ;  and  from 
what  I  have  learned  this  evening,  there  is  a  process  by 
which  that  desirable  result  may  be  effected.  A  crime 
lies  between  them ;  I  know  it,  and  can  ruin  them  with 
a  word ! " 

Guy  had  been  seated  since  he  entered  the  lawyer's 
office ;  but  in  closing  this  sentence,  he  started  up  in  an 
excited  manner,  and  gesticulated  with  some  violence. 
"  I  can  ruin  them  at  a  word,"  he  repeated — "  and 

what  is  more,  I'll  do  it,  unless " 

He  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but  Glastonberry 
understood  him. 

"  One  thing  must  not  be  forgotten,"  said  the  lawyer, 
in  his  cold,  deliberate  way.  "  You  have  a  cunning  fox 
to  deal  with  in  Larobe." 

"  A  swift-footed  hound,  keen  of  scent,  --is  usually  a 
match  for  the  cunningest  fox.  I'll  put  you  against  La- 
robe,  any  day  ;  and  I'm  not  slow  myself,  when  the 
game's  on  foot. 

Glastonberry 's  upper  lip  was  raised  in  a  peculiar  way 
—  drawn  back,  as  we  sometimes  see  it  in  a  dog  —  show 
ing  two  or  three  of  the  teeth  on  one  side.  The  move- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  53 

ment  seemed  nervous,  and  passed  in  a  moment.  It  did 
not  appear,  from  all  the  signs  in  his  face,  whether  he 
relished  his  client's  compliment  or  not. 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  the  Doctor's  story  is  true,  there's  been  foul  play 
towards  my  father." 

"  Unquestionably,"  replied  Mr.  Glastonberry. 

44  And  Larobe  is  a  party  to  the  foul  play." 

44 1  take  that  for  granted." 

44  Very  well.  A  man  with  a  crime  on  his  conscience 
is  always  a  coward.  You  can  frighten  him  into  any 
thing,  if  he  is  fully  assured  that  you  know  his  secret." 

44  In  some  cases  that  is  so." 

44  Will  it  not  be  so  with  Larobe  ?  " 

44  His  character,  as  a  man  of  honorable  dealing,  does 
not  stand  very  high,  you  are  aware.  Two  or  three 
estates  of  orphans  have  been  queerly  managed  under 
his  administration ;  and  he  has  coolly  braved  the  odium 
of  legal  inquiry  into  his  conduct,  suffering  damage  to 
his  gopd  name  in  consequence." 

44 1  can  shake  the  penitentiary,  nay,  the  gallows,  in 
his  face,"  said  Guy,  fiercely. 

44  He  will  understand  the  value  of  all  that  to  the 
tenth  part  of  a  scruple." 

44  Of  course,  he  will,"  answered  the  young  man, 
losing  a  portion  of  his  excitement  under  the  chilling 
composure  of  the  lawyer.  44  And  its  value  is  not  to  be 
determined  with  feathers  in  the  opposing  scale." 


54  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  In  this  line  of  attack,  Edwin,"  said  Mr.  Glaston- 
berry,  "  great  caution  is  needed.  If  Larobe  were  a 
merchant,  of  ordinary  calibre  ;  or,  in  any  other  profes 
sion  except  law,  he  might  be  advanced  upon  with  the 
prospect  of  a  certain  victory.  But  he  is  wily,  crafty, 
and  well  entrenched  in  any  position  he  may  have  taken. 
He  knows  every  inch  of  the  gronud  he  stands  on  ;  its 
weak  and  its  impregnable  side.  If  you  approach  him 
as  an  enemy,  he  will  comprehend  your  strength  and  re 
sources,  as  compared  with  his  own,  and  by  feints  and 
covert  movements,  seek  to  betray  you  to  destruction  — 
and  he  will  do  it,  if  you  are  not  wholly  on  your  guard." 

"  How  can  he  damage  me  ?  "  asked  Guy. 

"  Conspiracies  to  extort  money  are  regarded  as  seri 
ous  crimes ;  and,  moreover,  in  our  courts,  a  lawyer,  as 
party  to  a  suit,  has  two  chances  to  one  in  his  favor." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Simply,  that,  from  a  certain  esprit  de  corps,  the 
Bench  and  the  Bar  generally  sustain  each  other.  It  is 
a  difficult  thing  to  get  one  lawyer  of  standing  to  conduct 
a  case  against  a  brother  in  the  profession,  who  holds  a 
good  position.  If  Larobe  can  trap  you  in  any  way, 
and  then  dispose  of  you  under  legal  process,  depend 
upon  it,  he  will  do  so,  and  you  may  find  yourself  across 
the  Falls,  and  under  lock  and  key,  before  even  conscious 
of  danger.  Instead  of  hurting  him,  you  may  ruin  your 
self." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  55 

"  Then  you  advise  an  open  and  above-board  suit  to 
break  the  will." 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  advise  that." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  Simply,  that  you  govern  yourself  in  all  things,  as  I 
direct.  There  is  a  safe  way,  and  also  an  unsafe  way, 
in  this  business." 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,  Mr.  Glastonberry." 

"  Hold  yourself  strictly  to  my  suggestions,"  answered 
the  -lawyer,  "  and  I  think  we  may  gain  more  by  private 
arrangment  with  Larobe,  than  in  a  perplexing  suit.  I 
must,  of  course,  be  unknown  in  the  affair.  It  will  not 
do  for  you  to  come  here  for  consultation  in  the  day  time ; 
nor  must  we  ever  be  seen  talking  together  on  the  street. 
In  fact,  we  should  avoid  recognizing  each  other  on  meet 
ing.  It  will  suggest  itself  to  Larobe,  that  you  are 
acting  under  advice  ;  and  he  will  be  Argus-eyed  in  his 
efforts  to  learn  by  whom  your  well  considered  advances 
upon  him  are  instigated.  If  I  am  known,  my  power 
will,  in  a  great  measure,  be  gone.  You  understand  ?  " 

44  O  yes.  I  see  the  bearing  of  all  that.  You  can 
trust  in  my  discretion.  I  know  what  is  at  stake." 

"  Very  well.  Now  we  understand  each  other  clearly. 
See  me  again  to-morrow  evening.  In  the  mean  time, 
it  may  be  well  for  you  to  call  on  Doctor  Hofland,  and 
get  from  him  a  repetition  of  what  he  said  to-night,  and 
anything  further  he  may  feel  inclined  to  communicate. 


56  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

But,  I  must  particularly  caution  you  against  the  utter 
ance  of  threats  towards  Mr.  Larobe,  or  the  use  of  any 
expressions  that  may  give  the  Doctor  a  hint  of  what 
you  intend  doing.  Note  his  language  exactly,  in  all 
he  says  about  your  father,  so  as  to  remember  his  very 
words.  I  think — "he  added,  encouragingly — "that 
we  have  a  rich  case,  and  one  that  will  pay,  if  we  man 
age  our  cards  aright.  We  must  not  be  precipitate ;  but 
move  with  stealthy  circumspection.  Larobe  must  not 
be  startled,  too  suddenly,  by  a  threat.  He  must  be  toy 
ed  with,  and  entreated,  as  it  were.  Your  first  visit 
should  be  one  of  solicitation,  rather  than  demand.  An 
approach  to  get  his  ear,  and  open  the  way  for  other  ad 
vances.  But  I  will  think  out  the  programme  minutely, 
and  to-morrow  evening  speak  by  the  card." 

Mr.  Glastonberry  then  arose,  and  going  to  a  closet, 
brought  forth  a  small  waiter,  on  which  were  glasses  and 
a  bottle  of  wine. 

"  It  is  sharp  out  to-night,"  he  said,  "  and  you  must 
warm  yourself  before  going,  with  Amontillado." 

And  he  poured  two  full  glasses  of  the  pale,  sunny 
liquor. 

"  You  perceive  the  flavor,"  said  Glastonberry,  as  Guy, 
after  sipping  at  his  glass,  noted  the  taste  on  his  palate. 

"  True  Amontillado,"  was  replied,  and  then  the  glass 
was  emptied  and  set  down,  but  held  between  the  fingers, 
dumb  in  invitation  to  be  refilled  —  an  invitation  that 
did  not  wait. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  57 

"  You're  a  judge  of  wine,  Mr.  Glastonberry,"  re 
marked  Guy,  approvingly,  as  he  smacked  his  lies,  after 
emptying  his  second  glass. 

"  I  know  a  good  article,"  answered  the  lawyer. 
11  Try  another  glass.  It  is  light,"  and  he  filled  for  his 
companion  again. 

When,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  they  parted,  the  bottle 
stood  empty  on  the  lawyer's  table. 


CHAPTER  V. 

S  intimated  by  Doctor  Hofland,  there 
had  been  a  separation  between  Justin 
Larobe  and  his  wife ;  though  not  in 
legal  form.  In  each  mind  was  a 
deathless  impulse  to  rule,  and  the  an- 
tagonisms  born  of  this  impulse  were 
too  violent  for  the  restraint  of  any  mere 
external  bond  ;  and  so  they  were  driv 
en  asunder.  The  parting  had  been  in  such  hot  blood, 
that  no  recognition  of  mutual  rights  had  taken  place. 
As  enemies  they  drew  apart,  each  hating,  yet  fearing 
the  other ;  for,  they  held  between  them  a  deadly  secret. 
The  household  was  not  broken  up.  That  remained  with 
Mrs.  Larobe ;  and  as  issue  had  failed  in  the  marriage, 
no  irritating  questions  in  regard  to  the  disposition  of 
children  were  involved.  Mr.  Larobe,  in  separating  from 
his  wife,  had  taken  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Gity  Hotel, 
where  he  was  living  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  now 
writing. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  »59 

On  the  night  after  the  .interview  between  Edwin  Guy 
and  Mr.  Glastonberry,  as  described  in  the  last  chapter, 
Larobe  sat  alone  in  his  chamber.  He  was  a  man  rath 
er  below,  than  up  to  the  medium  stature,  but  stoutly  and 
squarely  built.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was  narrow, 
but  the  upper  portion  broad  and  high.  A  pair  of  small, 
tawny  gray  eyes,  looked  at  you,  warily,  from  beneath 
heavy  and  projecting  brows ;  and  a  peculiarity  in  them 
was,  that  their  color  came  so  near  to  that  of  the  deep 
orbital  cavity,  that  you  did  not,  at  first,  detect  their 
sinister  expression.  His  head  was  thickly  covered  with 
short,  coarse  hair,  that  was  beginning  to  turn  grey. 
Mr.  Larobe  was  reading,  and  sat  very  still,  apparently 
absorbed  in  his  book.  The  time  wore  on  until  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  when  two  knocks  came  upon  the  door ;  not 
by  a  servant's  hand  —  his  ear  told  him  that.  Rising, 
he  crossed  the  room,  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Edwin  Guy !  "  Larobe  uttered  the  name  in  no 
simulated  surprise  ;  his  heavy  brows  falling,  as  he  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Larobe,"  said  the  young  man,  stepping  into 
the  apartment.  The  lawyer  moved  back,  and  Guy  ad 
vanced,  shutting  the  door  behind  him.  In  the  middle 
of  the  room,  half  way  to  the  glowing  grate,  he  faced 
around,  and  planted  himself  squarely  before  his  visitor, 
who,  naturally,  stood  still,  confronting  him.  Both 
frowned  —  both  looked  defiant.  Each  recognized  an 
enemy,  who  would  inflict  harm  if  possible. 


60  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  visit  ?  "  asked  La- 
robe,  coldly. 

"  I  have  several  things  to  say,"  replied  Edwin,  speak 
ing  with  as  much  coolness  as  possible,  and  at  the  same 
time  taking,  though  uninvited,  a  chair.  It  was  plain, 
by  the  lawyer's  manner,  that  something  in  his  visitor 
puzzled  him.  He  did  not  consent  to  this  freedom  of 
conduct  in  his  own  apartment,  by  taking  a  chair  also, 
but  stood  even  more  erect  and  solid,  with  his  arms 
thrown  behind  him. 

"  Say  on."  Larobe,  in  tone,  at  least,  feigned  indiffer 
ence  well. 

"  As  you  are  aware,  sir,  I  have  never  been  satisfied 
with  my  father's  will."  Guy  looked  at  him,  keenly,  as 
he  said  this.  It  was  a  simple  feeler.  The  only  change 
noted,  was  a  warier  expression  in  the  deep  set,  brownish 
gray  eyes,  that  were  fixed  on  him,  snakily. 

"  And  you  are  aware,  sir,  that  I  have  no  power  to 
change  it,"  was  answered,  evenly  and  coldly. 

•  I  think  its  conditions  will  have  to  be  changed," 
said  Guy. 

There  was  a  meaning  in  his  voice,  more  than  in  his 
words,  that  caused  Larobe  to  move  from  his  solid  bal 
ance,  with  just  the  slightest  sign  of  uneasiness. 

"  All  parties  are  bound  by  the  terms  of  a  legal  instru 
ment,"  said  the  lawyer,  slowly,  distinctly,  and  without 
apparent  feeling.  "  A  will,  to  an  executor,  is  a  letter 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWAKD.  61 

of  instructions,  from  which  he  cannot  depart.  In  re 
gard  to  your  father's  will,  every  provision  has  been 
carried  out  to  the  letter.  If  you  question  this,  demand 
an  investigation.  You  will  be  patiently  heard  in  the 
Orphan's  Court.  But  if,  as  I  infer  from  your  remark, 
it  is  against  the  will  itself  that  your  complaint  lies,  then 
you  must  go  past  the  executor,  and  test  its  binding  force 
in  law." 

"  An  insane  man  cannot  make  a  will,"  remarked  Ed 
win  Guy,  in  dead  level  tones,  while  he  kept  his  eyes 
watchfully  on  Larobe's  countenance. 

"  True ;  but  your  father's  will  bears  date  anterior  to 
the  loss  of  reason." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that." 

"  You  surprise  me,  Edwin !  How  long  have  you  en 
tertained  this  view  ?  " 

"  For  a  long  time." 

"  It  can  at  least  be  said,"  remarked  the  lawyer,  with 
manifest  irony,  "  that  you  have  been  exceedingly  patient 
under  this  impression  of  fraud  and  wrong.  Had  the 
case  been  mine,  I  would  have  seen  to  the  bottom  of  it 
years  ago." 

"  Some  men  act  hastily,  while  others  bide  their  time. 
I  was  only  a  boy  when  my  father  died,  and  ignorant  of 
the  dark  things  passing  around  me.  The  thought  of 
crime  and  violence  never  entered  my  young  brain,  and 
when,  long  ago,  the  suggestions  were  made,  I  turned 


62  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

away  from  them  as  too  horrible  for  belief.  But,  one 
fact  after  another  came  to  light,  until  the  accumulated 
evidence  forced  an  almost  unwilling  conviction.  I  did 
not  act  hastily ;  but  went  on  searching,  inquiring,  pon 
dering,  willing  to  bide  my  time  ;  and  it  has  come, 
Mr.  Larobe!" 

Guy  threw  a  quick,  strong  emphasis  into  his  voice,  in 
closing  this  sentence,  which  gave  the  lawyer's  nerves, 
self-poised  as  he  was,  a  sudden  start.  Turning  himself, 
by  an  almost  imperceptible  movement,  he  withdrew  his 
face  from  under  the  direct  scrutiny  of  a  pair  of  eyes 
that  seemed  looking  right  down  into  his  heart.  Before 
answering,  he  took  a  chair,  placing  it  in  a  line  parallel 
to  the  one  in  which  Guy  was  sitting,  so  that  he  might 
look  towards,  or  away  from  his  companion,  as  suited 
him  best.  He  did  not  speak  immediately.  Guy  wait 
ed  for  him,  struggling  to  repress  the  mounting  excite 
ment,  which  made  every  pulsation  of  his  heart  audible 
in  his  ears. 

"If  you  know  of  anything  wrong,  Edwin,"  he  said, 
at  length,  in  the  manner  of  one  who  offers  disinterested 
advice,  in  the  hope  of  serving  another  — "  bring  it  to 
the  light.  I  was  simply  executor  under  your  father's 
will,  the  purpose  of  which  I  have  carried  out  faithfully. 
You  received,  at  my  hands,  on  the  day  you  were  twenty- 
one  years  of  age,  all  that  it  gave  you.  I  could  do  no 
more.  If  there  was  anything  wrong  in  the  execution 


WHAT    CAME    AFTE11WARDS.  63 

of  this  will ;  if,  as  you  seem  to  think,  dark  and  criminal 
things  are  involved ;  in  Heaven's  name,  drag  them 
forth  to  view  !  Count  on  me  for  giving  you  all  aid  that 
may  lie  in  my  power." 

This,  though  understood  by  Edwin,  was  unexpected, 
and  he  pondered  it,  before  answering.  When  he  spoke, 
his  words  were  — 

"  I  have  learned  that  my  father  was  drugged  before 
his  removal  to  the  Hospital." 

"  Drugged  !  "  exclaimed  Larobe,  in  feigned  astonish 
ment. 

"  Yes,  sir,  drugged  !  " 

«  By  whom  ?  '•' 

"  Ah,  there's  the  pinch  !  The  fact  is  ascertained 
beyond  question.  He  was  heavily  under  the  influence 
of  opium  when  received  at  the  Hospital." 

"  That  may  be  satisfactorily  accounted  for,  I  think," 
said  Larobe.  "  Your  father's  derangement  was  pre 
ceded  by  days  and  nights  of  sleeplessness,  and  mor 
phia  was  administered,  under  the  advice  of  his  physi 
cian,  as  the  only  means  of  tranquilizing  his  nerves  ; 
and  he  may  have  been  more  or  less  under  its  influence 
when  taken  to  the  Hospital.  To  my  mind  this  view  is 
reasonable." 

"  If  that  fact  stood  solitary,  your  inference  would  be 
reasonable  enough.  Unhappily,  it  does  not,"  replied 
the  young  man. 


64  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  What  other  facts  have  you  learned  ?  "  asked  Larobe. 

"  He  was  removed  from  home  without  the  knowl 
edge  or  consent,  and  against  the  judgment,  of  at  least 
one  of  his  attendant  physicians,  and  in  the  absence  of 
both." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  The  lawyer  did  not  turn  his  face 
towards  his  companion,  but  sat,  with  his  chin  drawn 
down,  and  his  eyes  looking  inwards. 

"  Without  question,  that  is  so.  And  it  farther  ap 
pears,  that  my  step-mother,  with  a  male  accomplice  — 
of  whose  identity  I  am  not  yet  clearly  advised  —  accom 
panied  him  to  the  Hospital,  delivering  him  in  person, 
to  the  officials  of  the  Institution." 

"  That  may  all  be  satisfactorily  explained,"  answered 
Mr.  Larobe.  "It  is  the  same  with  actions  as  with 
natural  objects ;  a  different  point  of  view,  gives  a  dif 
ferent  appearance.  I  don't  see  a  case  in  this." 

"  And  it  still  farther  appears,"  resumed  Guy,  "  that 
my  father  showed  immediate  signs  of  improvement ;  and 
these  were  so  marked,  that  the  Resident  Physician  con 
sented,  after  a  few  days,  to  his  being  taken  home  again, 
and  with  that  view  permitted  him  to  leave  the  Institu 
tion,  in  company  with  his  wife  and  another  person. 
Now,  sir,  in  tracing  the  case  thus  far,  judge  of  my  sur 
prise  and  horror,  when  I  learned,  that,  instead  of  be 
ing  taken  home,  a  sane  man  as  he  was,  his  wife  and 
ner  accomplice  spirited  him  off  to  a  private  mad-house 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  65 

on  Long  Island,  where  he  met,  not  long  after,  with  a 
violent  death.  Sir  !  there  is  a  murder  at  the  hottom  of 
this  dark  transaction  !  Yes,  sir !  A  murder  !  And 
by  all  the  solemn  obligations  of  a  son  to  his  father,  I 
will  drag  the  foul  transgressors  into  open  day,  and  have 
them  punished  !  " 

Starting  to  his  feet,  in  excitement,  the  young  man 
took  a  position  in  front  of  Larobe,  and  gazed  upon  him, 
with  stern  accusation  in  his  eyes.  The  lawyer,  cool 
and  wary  as  he  was,  found  himself,  unexpectedly,  in  so 
perilous  a  strait,  that  entire  self-composure  was  almost 
impossible.  To  betray  weakness  or  fear,  would  be  to 
give  his  enemy  a  power  over  him  that  might  be  used 
with  terrible  effect.  So  he  waited,  before  answering, 
to  collect  himself.  He  then  remarked,  with  a  thought 
ful  air,  as  if  pondering  what  Guy  had  said  — 

"  That  has  a  dark  look,  certainly." 

"  A  dark  and  devilish  look  !  ejaculated  the  young 
man,  fiercely. 

"From  whom  did  you  gain  this  information,  Ed 
win  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  at  liberty  to  give  names  ;  but,  witness 
es  ready  to  prove  all,  and  more  than  all,  I  have  said, 
will  be  forthcoming.  Among  these  is  a  man  who  held 
the  place  of  keeper  in  the  mad-house  where  my  father 
was  taken.  He  has  already  given  me  some  shocking 
particulars  in  regard  to  his  treatment  there." 


66  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  What  ?  "  The  lawyer  was  off  his  guard,  and  gave 
a  sign  of  alarm  that  Edwin  Guy  did  not  fail  to  note. 

"  '  He  was  no  more  insane  than  you  are  now,  when 
he  came  to  our  place  ; '  these  are  the  man's  very  words, 
Mr.  Larobe.  Just  think  of  it !  Do  you  wonder  that 
I  am  excited  and  in  earnest  ?  That  I  have  sworn  to 
uncover  this  great  iniquity?  " 

"  What  did  he  say  about  your  father's  death  ? " 
asked  Larobe.  Guy  perceived,  by  the  lawyer's  tone 
and  manner  —  by  the  holding  of  his  breath  for  an  an 
swer  —  that,  in  his  reply  to  this  question,  he  felt  a  deep 
and  personal  interest.  And  so,  he  withheld  the  answer 
until  he  could  think  for  a  little  while. 

"  There  was  some  mystery  about  that,"  he  remarked, 
at  length,  as  if  unwilling  to  communicate  what  was  in 
his  thoughts. 

"  Mystery  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  man  evidently  knows  more  than  he 
cares,  just  now,  to  communicate.  But  I  understand 
the  kind  of  influence  needed,  and  shall  bring  it  to  bear." 

"  In  attempting  to  escape  from  a  window,  your  fa 
ther  fell  to  the  ground,  and  was  killed.  I  never  heard, 
or  suspected,  anything  more,"  said  Larobe. 

"  That  was  the  story,  I  know.  Beyond  this  simple 
casualty,  as  it  was  called,  nothing  reached  the  public. 
All  the  actors  in  this  infernal  business  were  cunning 
and  secretive ;  but  it  happened,  as  it  usually  does  in  all 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  67 

hellish  schemes,  that  Satan  left  one  or  two  points  un 
guarded,  through  means  of  which  he  might  betray  to 
ruin  the  easy  fools  who  trusted  him.  The  devil,  Mr. 
Larobe,  is  a  false  friend ;  and  all  who  swear  by  him  are 
equally  false,  and  as  ready  to  betray  each  other.  Doc 
tor  Du  Pontz,  if  I  remember  aright,  is  the  name  by 
which  the  keeper  of  the  asylum  on  Long  Island  is 
known  ?  " 

"  Something  like  that,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

"  A  Frenchman  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  believe  not.'7  Larobe  seemed  trying  to  recall 
the  man's  identity. 

"  Then  I  have  been  misinformed.  I  understood  that 
you  were,  several  times,  on  Long  Island,  during  the 
time  of  my  father's  imprisonment. 

Larobe  shook  his  head,  slowly,  as  he  answered  — 

"  I  was  never  on  Long  Island  in  my  life." 

"  A  simple  question  of  evidence,"  said  Guy,  in  an 
undertone,  as  if  to  himself. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  demanded  Larobe, 
forgetting  himself. 

"  By  what?  "  coolly  asked  Guy. 

"  By  your  remark,  that  it  was  a  simple  question  of 
evidence." 


68  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Whether  you  were  ever  at  Du  Pontz's  mad-house 
on  Long  Island,  or  not  ?  " 

Larobe  was  losing  ground  in  this  passage  at  arms 
with  the  young  man,  and  he  felt  it  bitterly.  How 
should  he  regain  the  failing  advantage?  Not,  surely, 
through  any  betrayal  of  passion  ;  though  he  felt  the  in 
timations  of  Guy  as  a  biting  insult.  Fear,  however, 
was  stronger  than  anger,  and  admitted  as  the  safer  coun 
sellor. 

"  I  think,  Edwin,"  said  he,  after  a  hurried  repression 
of  feeling,  facing  round,  and  looking  steadily  at  Guy  — 
his  voice  had  now  a  velvety  softness,  and  a  friendship  of 
tone  not  exhibited  before — "  that  we  had  best  clearly 
understand  each  other.  You  have  come  here  with  a 
certain  purpose  in  your  mind ;  and  I  am  of  opinion, 
that  through  a  frank  statement  of  that  purpose,  you 
will  more  readily  attain  to  it,  than  by  any  covert  move 
ments.  I  cannot  understand  your  drift  in  this  seeming 
effort  to  involve  me  in  transactions  of  a  dozen  years 
back  to  which  I  was  in  no  way  participant.  You  con 
template  some  legal  action,  I  infer?  " 

"  I  do,"  was  promptly  answered. 

"  Before  commencing,  let  me  suggest  a  careful  consid 
eration  of  the  question,  whether,  in  this  action,  you  will 
have  me  as  a  friend  or  an  enemy." 

"  Thank  you,  for  the  suggestion,"  said  Guy,  in  a 
conciliatory  manner.  "  Enemies  are  never  to  be  desired. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARD.  69 

Of  course,  I  desire  to  have  you  as  a  friend  ;  but  it  may 
happen,  that  interest  will  come  in  the  way  of  friendship. 
If,  as  appears  from  all  I  can  learn,  you  were  an  active 
abettor  in  my  father's  ruin  of  mind,  and  subsequent 
death,  I  don't  see  how,  in  any  legal  or  personal  sense, 
you  can  stand  to  me  in  any  other  relation  than  that  of 
an  enemy.  Understand  me,  Mr.  Larobe.  I  am  in  pos 
session  of  evidence  in  regard  to  my  father's  treatment 
that  will  astound  the  community  when  it  comes  to  light, 
and  I  shall  prosecute  to  conviction  all  parties  who  were 
in  the  conspiracy  against  him." 

"  To  what  end  ?  "  calmly  inquired  the  lawyer. 

"  That  wrong  may  be  punished,  and  justice  establish 
ed,"  said  Guy,  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  Justice  ?  "  queried  Larobe.  "  To  whom  ?  Your 
father  is  dead,  and  no  legal  decision  can  affect  him." 

"  It  can  affect  his  children,  wrongfully  despoiled  of 
their  interest  in  his  estate." 

"  What  was  your  interest  ?  ' 

Edwin  dropped  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  be  thinking. 

"  Not  above  twenty  thousand  dollars,  in  equitable 
division  under  the  law,  if  your  father  had  died  intestate. 
Are  you  aware  of  that  ?  " 

Edwin  did  not  reply,  and  the  lawyer  added, 

"  Ten  thousand  were  devised  and  paid.  If  you  suc 
ceed  to  the  utmost,  you  cannot  get  beyond  an  additional 
ten  thousand,  subject  to  fees  and  legal  claims,  which, 


70  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARD. 

under  the  law's  delays  and  requirements,  will  amount 
to  half  that  sum.  I  am  speaking  as  your  friend,  and 
showing  you  the  best  that  lies  beyond." 

u  You  forget  interest,"  said  Edwin.  "  Interest  on 
ten  thousand  dollars  from  the  date  of  my  father's  will. 
Six  or  seven  thousand  dollars  must  cover  the  most 
liberal  estimate  of  expenses  ;  and  I  can  find  half-a-dozen 
prominent  lawyers  in  an  hour,  any  one  of  whom  will 
engage  to  conduct  the  suit  for  that  fee  in  prospect." 

He  was  watching  Larobe  closely,  to  see  the  effect  of 
this  last  sentence.  It  went  home.  Some  minutes  pass 
ed  in  silence  ;  a  silence  that  Larobe  felt  to  be  telling 
against  him  more  and  more,  the  longer  it  was  continued, 
for  it  showed  his  perplexity  and  indecision.  Guy  could 
afford  to  wait  his  companion's  response  ;  and  he  did 
wait. 

"  You  are  aware,"  said  the  lawyer,  in  a  deliberate 
way,  breaking  the  pause,  "  that  your  step-mother  and  I 
are  not  on  friendly  terms." 

"  I  have  heard  as  much,"  answered  the  young  man. 

"  I  cannot,  therefore,  speak  for  her.     Perhaps  — " 

But  he  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  There  has  been  no  divorce  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"  No  — no  ;  nothing  of  that  kind." 

Larobe  understood  the  remark.  As  husband,  under 
the  State  laws,  he  had  control  of  his  wife's  property, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  71 

nearly  the  whole  of  which  was  personal,  and  not  free 
hold.  And  so  he  was  still  in  perplexity  of  mind. 

"  Edwin,"  he  said,  after  another  period  of  silence, 
"  this  is  too  grave  a  matter  to  admit  of  hasty  decision. 
Everything  depends  on  your  knowing  where  you  stand. 
A  false  step  may  be  ruinous.  As  intimated  a  little 
while  ago,  I  can  be  your  friend,  and  serve  you  —  or, 
if  you  elect,  I  can  be  your  enemy.  It  is  for  you  to  say 
in  which  attitude  I  am  to  stand." 

As  if  deliberating  on  the  lawyer's  suggestion,  Guy 
walked  the  floor  for  some  time,  his  hands  behind  him 
and  his  head  bent  down.  Pausing  at  length,  and  lift 
ing  his  eyes,  he  remarked  — 

"  I  think  you  understand  the  case,  Mr.  Larobe  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  was  answered. 

"  And  you  wish  to  be  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  so." 

"  Turn  the  subject  over  in  your  mind.  Look  at  it 
upon  all  sides,  and  determine  for  me,  if  you  can,  what 
course  will  be  the  wisest.  I  will  see  you  again  to 
morrow  evening." 

"  Whatever  is  done,  Edwin,  should  be  well  consider 
ed  in  advance,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  cautious  reserve. 

"  No  one  understands  that  better  than  I  do,  Mr. 
Larobe,  and  therefore  I  suggest  twenty-four  hours'  de 
liberation.  To-morrow  evening  I  will  be  here  again. 
Good-night." 


72  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

And  he  went  out  abruptly.  There  was  a  covert 
threat  in  his  good  night  tone  which  the  lawyer's  wary 
ear  did  not  fail  to  notice.  For  nearly  an  hour  after 
Guy's  departure,  he  sat  so  motionless  before  the  fire, 
that  an  observer  would  have  thought  him  sleeping. 
But  sleep  was  a  stranger  to  his  pillow  through  all  the 
watches  of  that  troubled  night. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

'ROM  the  City  Hotel,  Edwin  Guy  wait 
ed  leisurely  down  Monument  Square  to 
Lexington  street,  where  he  stopped  and 
waited  several  minutes  on  the  corner, 
narrowly  scrutinizing  every  one  who  ap 
proached  from  the  direction  of  the  Ho 
tel.  Satisfied,  at  length,  that  Larobe 
was  not  following  him,  he  started  up 
Lexington  street  at  a  quick  pace,  and  passing  the 
Court  House,  dropped  down  St.  Paul  street  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Glastonberry's  office,  into  which  he 
disappeared.  The  cold,  still  face  of  the  lawyer  looked 
at  him  inquiringly,  as  he  took  a  chair  opposite  to  where 
he  sat  at  the  office  table.  It  was  one  of  those  unread 
able  faces  that  we  sometimes  see  in  men,  which,  like  a 
turbid  stream,  hides  everything  beneath  —  smooth, 
sluggish,  mysterious. 
"  You  have  seen  him  ?  " 
"  Yes." 


74  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARD. 

"  Give  me  the  interview  as  accurately  as  possible ; 
word  for  word  if  you  can  —  and  the  effect  produced  on 
Larobe." 

Guy  related,  with  minute  particularity,  all  that  had 
passed  between  him  and  his  father's  executor. 

"He's  frightened  —  so  much  is  clear,"  said  Glaston- 
berry,  in  his  imperturbable  way. 

"  Frightened  out  of  his  boots,"  returned  Guy. 

"  No,  not  so  badly  as  that.  He's  an  old  fox,-  my 
friend,  and  will  double  on  his  track  and  throw  you  off 
the  scent." 

"  He'll  never  throw  me  off ;  make  yourself  easy  on 
that  head,"  answered  Guy,  confidently.  "  He  betrayed 
enough  to-night,  to  show  that  he  believes  me  in  posses 
sion  of  facts  which  may  be  used  to  his  harm.  He  in 
tends  to  avoid  all  legal  issues  if  possible." 

14  No  doubt  of  that.  But  none  knows  better  than  he, 
the  questionable  policy  of  secret  compromise  with  an 
enemy.  If  he  can  hold  himself  clear  from  that  perilous 
necessity,  he  will  do  so." 

"  Do  you  think  he  can,  Mr.  Glastonberry  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  way  — "          .    * 

«  How  ?  —  Where  ?  " 

"  It  would  take  too  much  time  to  explain  to-night. 
Besides,  I  am  not  fully  posted ;  I  only  know  that 
there  is  a  way  —  difficult  to  be  sure  ;  but  one  along 
which  he  may  choose  to  venture  as  a  means  of  escaping 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARD.  75 

the  trap  you  have  laid  for  his  feet.  Let  me,  once  more, 
enjoin  upon  you  the  greatest  prudence.  Keep  your 
own  counsel.  Above  all,  remain  strictly  silent,  even  to 
your  nearest  friend,  touching  the  matter  now  in  prog 
ress,  so  that  no  one  may  have  it  in  his  power  to  report 
a  sentence  from  your  lips.  Suspect  all  who  approach 
you  with  a  word  about  family  affairs  ;  and  on  no  ac 
count  suffer  a  remark  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Larobe's 
relation  to  your  father's  estate  to  drop  from  your  lips. 
You  will  be  watched  with  unsleeping  vigilance  from 
this  hour.  Larobe  will  surround  you  with  men  under 
pay  and  instructions,  whose  business  it  will  be  to  lure 
you  into  imprudences  of  speech,  that  may  be  tortured 
into  evidence  to  prove  an  attempt  on  your  part  to  ex 
tort  money.  Forewarned,  forearmed,  my  young  friend. 
You  are  embarking  on  a  dangerous  venture." 

"  But  with  a  good  pilot  at  the  helm,"  replied  Edwin, 
in  compliment  to  the  lawyer. 

"If  my  ship  obeys  the  helm,  the  passage  will  be  safe. 
If  not,  the  peril  is  imminent." 

"  She  will  obey  the  helm,  Mr.  Glastonberry.  Trust 
my  word  for  that." 

The  only  response  to  this,  was  in  that  peculiar  lifting 
of  the  upper  lip,  before  mentioned,  as  if  a  portion  of  it 
were  drawn  back  by  a  cord,  showing  the  canine  teeth. 

"  I  shall  see  him,  as  per  appointment,  again  on  to 
morrow  night,"  said  Guy.  "  What  programme  is  to 
be  followed  ?  " 


76  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"Be,  for  one  thing,  more  reserved  and  more  mysteri 
ous,"  replied  Glastonberry,  "  as  if  you  were  conscious 
of  having  said  too  much  during  the  first  interview. 
Seem  more  inclined  to  legal  measures  than  any  other. 
If  he  intimates  any  confidential  adjustment  —  any  fur 
ther  division  of  your  father's  estate  in  your  favor  — 
show  little  favor  towards  the  proposition.  If  he  argues 
the  case,  listen  with  owl-like  gravity,  and  put  on  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  carefully  weighs  two  nearly 
equal  advantages.  You  must  play  him  as  an  angler 
plays  his  trout,  and  give  line  so  long  as  he  drags  firmly 
on  the  bait.  He  will  thus  weary,  weaken,  and  entangle 
himself,  while  you  remain  alert  for  the  moment  of  ad 
vantage." 

"  Suppose  he  makes  an  out  and  out  offer  of  the  full 
sum  due  me  from  my  father's  estate,  throwing  the  will 
aside  ?  " 

"  Draw  back  from  the  offer.  Don't  seem  in  the  least 
moved  by  it.  Speak  of  the  wrong  to  other  heirs  as 
well  as  the  wrong  to  yourself.  But,  it  is  not  at  all  likely 
that  any  such  offer  will  come.  If  it  should  come,  how 
ever,  it  will  show  him  to  be  more  frightened  than  now 
appears,  and,  of  course,  deeply  involved  in  crime  against 
your  father  and  his  children." 

"  He  will  never  permit  an  investigation,  Mr.  Glaston 
berry,  if  in  his  power  to  prevent  it.  You  may  set  your 
mind  at  rest  on  that.  I  saw  enough,  last  night,  to  re 
move  all  doubts  on  this  head." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  77 

For  half  an  hour  the  conference  went  on.  Then 
came  the  bottle  of  wine,  over  which  the  subject  was  con 
tinued  until  it  stood  empty  on  the  table  between  them, 
when  they  parted. 

On  the  next  evening  Guy  went  to  the  City  Hotel  and 
called  at  Larobe's  rooms.  To  his  knock  at  the  door  no 
answer  came.  He  stood  awhile,  and  then  knocked  again. 
But  all  was  silent  within. 

"  Mr.  Larobe  is  not  in  the  city,"  said  one  of  the 
waiters  who  happend  to  pass  at  the  moment. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  When  did  he  leave  ?  " 

"  This  morning." 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.  Perhaps  they  can  tell  you  at 
the  office." 

To  the  office  Guy  went,  but  the  clerk  answered  his 
questions  with  an  indifference  of  manner  that  was  irritat 
ing.  He  did  not  appear  to  know  or  care  anything  about 
Larobe. 

"  You  are  certain  that  he's  not  in  the  city,"  said 
Guy. 

"  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  him,  to-day.  Probably 
he's  gone  out  of  town." 

Nothing  more  definite  than  this  was  obtained,  and 
Guy  left  the  Hotel  in  some  perplexity  of  mind. 


78  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  asked  of  Glastonberry,  to 
whose  office  he  went,  hastily,  on  leaving  the  hotel, 
speaking  with  evident  concern. 

"  Something,  or  nothing,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned," 
answered  the  lawyer.  "  Business,  wholly  unconnected 
with  this  affair,  may  have  taken  him  from  the  city." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Guy,  "  that  I  went  a  little  too 
far." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  That  story  about  information  received  through  a 
former  attendant  in  the  insane  Asylum,  may  have  led 
him  to  visit  Du  Pontz,  in  order  to  ascertain  just  how 
much  it  is  worth." 

"  Not  at  all  improbable.  I'd  give  something  to  know 
if  that  were  the  meaning  of  his  absence  from  the  city." 

"  Would  you  regard  such  visit  as  a  good  omen  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  would  prove,  what  we  suspect,  that  he  is 
seriously  involved,  and  in  alarm.  To-morrow  we  must 
set  inquiry  afoot  in  a  dozen  directions,  in  order  to  as 
certain  the  precise  facts.  If  he  has  really  gone  to  Long 
Island,  our  game  is  safe.  I'd  give  five  hundred  dollars 
to  be  well  assured  of  the  fact." 

"  Do  you  know  the  exact  location  of  this  Asylum  ?  " 
asked  Guy. 

"  I  never  heard  of  its  existence  until  the  present 
time." 

"  It  is  somewhere  on  Long  Island." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARD.  79 

"  So  you  have  informed  me." 

"  And  the  proprietor's  name  is  Du  Pontz." 

"  So  you  say." 

"  Suppose  I  make  an  effort  to  find  the  place,  and  if 
successful,  see  what  I  can  get  out  of  this  Frenchman  ?  " 

Glastonberry  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  Not  yet  my 
young  friend.  We  must  make  haste  slowly  in  this 
business.  That  may  be  one  of  our  moves  in  order  to 
get  the  vantage  ground  ;  but  there's  time  enough." 

The  result  of  this  conference  was  limited  to  the  one 
purpose  of  finding  out  the  meaning  of  Larobe's  absence 
from  the  city,  and  tracing  its  connection,  if  any  existed, 
to  the  business  on  hand. 

And  now  let  us  return  to  Doctor  Hofland's  new  pa 
tients  in  Green  street  —  to  Mrs.  Ewbank,  and  her  sick 
child  and  husband.  The  Doctor's  suspicions  were  not 
at  fault.  There  was  neither  food  nor  money  in  the 
house,  and  the  two  packages  of  oat  meal  which  he  had 
sent  with  the  medicine,  served  the  purpose  intended  — 
quieting  the  "  hunger-pain"  in  more  than  one  stomach 
that  night.  Tearful  sorrow  came  with  the  morning. 
One  lonely  watcher  sat  through  the  waning  hours, 
from  midnight  until  cock  crow,  sleepless,  while  all 
slept ;  and  as  the  day  dawned  faintly  along  the  dark 
horizon,  laid  her  wet  face  down  in  helpless,  almost  de 
spairing  sorrow,  against  the  chilled  face  of  her  uncon 
scious  child,  thanking  God,  even  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
bereavement,  for  death. 


80  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

It  was  all  over  with  little  Theo  —  all  over  in  this 
world  ;  and  he  had  passed  into  the  company  of  angels. 
How  cold  it  was  !  Mrs.  Ewbank  had  not  observed  it 
before.  Shuddering,  she  drew  about  her  the  shawl 
which  had  lain  loosely  over  her  shoulders.  There  was 
no  fire  in  the  room.  Long  ago  it  had  gone  out,  for 
lack  of  fuel.  But  the  cold  shudder  was  not  felt  until  it 
ran  along  her  nerves  from  contact  with  that  strange  ici- 
ness,  which  is  the  sign  of  death. 

Covering  the  face  of  her  departed,  after  a  long,  long 
yearning  look,  Mrs.  Ewbank  went  silently  into  the  next 
room,  where  her  husband,  Esther,  and  another  child, 
five  years  old,  were  sleeping.  Moving  a  chair  to  the 
bed,  on  which  her  husband  lay,  she  leaned  forward, 
burying  her  face  in  a  pillow.  There  had  not  been  in 
all  her  life,  so  dark,  so  hopeless  an  hour  as  this.  Lit 
erally,  they  were  without  money,  food,  or  fuel.  Death 
had  come  in,  as  if  to  snap  the  last  fiber  of  endurance  ; 
and  for  the  time,  Mrs.  Ewbank  gave  up  in  despair,  and 
asked  that  she  might  die.  Even  as  the  prayer  went  up 
her  husband  awoke,  and,  partly  rising  in  bed,  saw  her 
position. 

"  Lydia."  He  spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  of  tenderest 
concern. 

She  did  not  move,  nor  answer. 

"  Lvdia."  He  called  her  again,  reaching  forth  an 
arm  from  beneath  the  bed-covering,  and  touching  her. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  81 

As  he  did  so,  the  cool  air  of  the  room  penetrated  his 
thin  night-garment,  chilling  the  blood,  and  producing 
an  almost  instantaneous  fit  of  coughing. 

"  Oh,  Henry !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ewbank,  starting  up 
in  a  hurried  manner,  and  pressing  her  husband  back 
upon  the  bed,  while  she  drew  the  covering  around  his 
shoulders  and  neck.  "  The  .room  is  wintry  cold.  Such 
imprudence  may  cost  you  your  life." 

As  warmth  returned,  the  coughing  subsided. 

"  How  is  Theo  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ewbank  did  not  answer  in  words.  She  only 
laid  her  face,  all  wet  with  tears,  close  against  her  hus 
band's,  and  sobbed  uncontrollably.  He  understood  the 
meaning  of  this,  and  lay  very  still,  with  shut  lids. 

"  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  taketli  away."  Mr. 
Ewbank  tried  to  speak  firmly,  but  his  tones  were  weak 
and  tremulous,  and  he  could  not  finish  the  sentence. 
His  wife  understood  what  was  in  his  heart  —  knew 
how  far  the  pain  had  reached  —  how  bitter  the  loss  ; 
for  that  child  had  been  as  the  apple  of  his  eye. 

"  Safe  in  Heaven,"  he  whispered,  a  little  while  after 
wards.  But.  his  wife  did  not  make  any  response. 
"  The  night  will  not  always  last."  He  tried  to  lift  her 
out  of  the  depth  into  which  she  had  fallen.  "  This  may 
be  that  darkest  of  all  dark  hours,  Lydia,  which  gathers  its 

thickest  gloom  just  before  the  coming  of  day  light.     It 
4* 


82  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

can't  be  darker  than  it  is  now,  darling ;  and  God  still 
lives  and  is  merciful." 

How  tenderly  —  how  hopefully,  in  tone,  as  if  to  in 
spire  hope  —  was  this  said.  But  there  came  no  re 
sponse. 

Coldly,  drearily,  the  winter  light  stole  in,  as  the 
morning  advanced ;  dusky  gray  yielding  to  the  purer 
crystaline,  until  white  and  yellow  beams  poured  through 
the  windows.  And  still  the  heart-stricken,  despairing 
wife  and  mother,  sat  motionless  by  the  bed-side,  her 
face  hidden. 

"  Mother !  "  It  was  Esther's  voice.  The  sunbeams 
had  awakened  her  with  their  morning  kiss,  given  as 
tenderly  as  to  the  happiest  child  in  all  the  land. 

"Mother!"  she  called  again,  for  Mrs.  Ewbank  nei 
ther  moved  nor  answered.  "  How  is  Theo  ?  " 

The  child  was  now  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  bending 
forward,  her  serious  face  turned  towards  her  father  and 
mother.  The  truth  seemed,  all  at  once,  to  flash  upon 
her  mind,  for  she  slipped  quickly  out  of  bed,  and  with-, 
out  stopping  to  dress  herself,  pushed  open  the  door  that 
led  into  the  next  chamber.  She  remained  there  only 
for  a  moment ;  then  came  back  sobbing  bitterly,  and 
crept  into  bed  again,  where  she  lay  weeping  and 
grieving. 

"Esther!"  At  the  call  of  her  father,  the  child 
started  up. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  83 

"  Wont  you  dress  yourself,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father."     She  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment. 

Slowly  Mrs.  Ewbank  raised  herself,  as  by  strong  in 
ternal  compulsion.  The  light  fell  over  a  face  so  ashen 
pale,  so  exhausted,  so  hopeless,  that  Esther,  child  as 
she  was,  lost  all  sense  of  individual  suffering,  in  pity 
and  alarm  for  her  mother. 

"  God  has  taken  Theo,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank,  to  Es 
ther,  as  she  came  near  the  bed.  He  spoke  calmly. 
The  bitterness  with  him  had  already  passed ;  for  his 
thought  had  gone  up  from  the  child  on  earth,  to  the 
child  in  Heaven.  "  God  has  taken  little  Theo,  and 
given  him  to  the  angels.  He  will  never  be  sick  any 
more,  nor  have  pain." 

Esther  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  leaning 
over  on  to  the  bed,  sobbed  aloud.  Waiting  until  he 
could  command  his  voice  again,  Mr.  Ewbank  said  — 

"  It  is  best,  my  dear,  that  he  should  go.     We  couldn't 
cure  his  sickness,  nor  ease  his  distress,  and  so  God  took 
thim  to  the  heavenly  land  where  there  is  neither  sick 
ness  nor  suffering." 

As  Mr.  Ewbank  said  this,  his  wife  passed  to  the  next 
room  where  her  dead  child  lay,  closing  the  door  behind 
her.  Uncovering  the  white  face,  already  restored  to 
calmness  and  beauty,  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her 
that  he  was  only  in  tranquil  sleep ;  but  the  chill  strik 
ing  down  to  her  heart,  as  she  laid  her  lips  on  his  icy 
forehead,  swept  this  illusion  aside. 


84  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  God  has  taken  little  Theo,"  she  repeated,  in  thought, 
her  husband's  words,  trying  to  find  comfort  in  them. 

Not  long  she  remained  standing  by  her  dead,  but, 
drawing  the  sheet  over  his  face  again,  went  down  stairs, 
continuing  into  the  cellar,  where  she  groped  about  try 
ing  to  find  pieces  of  wood  and  chips  with  which  to 
make  a  fire.  The  effort  was  only  partially  successful. 
A  washing  tub  stood  in  one  corner.  She  took  hold  of  it, 
and  turned  it  over ;  seemed  to  be  in  debate  —  then,  as 
if  acting  from  a  hurried  resolution,  caught  up  an  ax, 
and  at  a  single  stroke  laid  the  vessel  a  wreck  at  her 
feet.  Gathering  a  portion  of  the  short,  dry  staves  in 
her  arms,  and  taking  up  a  basket  partly  filled  with 
chips  and  splinters,  she  returned  to  the  chamber  where 
she  had  left  her  husband  and  children,  and  kindled  a 
fire  on  the  hearth.  While  engaged  in  doing  this,  a 
knock  was  heard  on  the  street  door. 

"  I  will  go  down,"  said  Esther,  starting  away. 

"  Mother  !     Mother  !  "  she  called,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairway,  in  a  few  moments.     "  Come  here,  wonfr 
you." 

Mrs.  Ewbank  hurried  down.  A  black  man  stood  at 
thetdoor,  with  a  large  basket  in  his  hand. 

"  Are  you  Mrs.  Ewbank  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.     I  am  Mrs.  Ewbank,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  this  basket  is  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?     Who  sent  it  ?  "  she  asked. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  85 

"  I  was  told  to  leave  it,  ma'am,"  answered  the  negro, 
showing  his  white  teeth.  "  And  here  is  a  letter." 

Breaking  the  seal,  she  found  a  fivedollar  bill  enclosed, 
and  these  lines,  pencilled  — 

"  Use  this  as  you  have  need ;  and  if  you  are  in  want 
of  fuel,  say  so  to  the  bearer." 

The  black  man  lingered,  while  Mrs.  Ewbank  read 
the  note.  She  was  so  bewildered  that  she  did  not,  at 
first  comprehend  the  truth  as  a  reality. 

"  Shall  I  bring  a  load  of  wood,  ma'am  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

The  man  bowed,  saying  —  "  It  shall  be  here  right 
away,"  and  went  out. 

In  the  basket  were  loaves  of  bread,  tea,  ground  coffee, 
sugar,  butter,  a  bottle  of  milk  and  a  bottle  of  wine  ; 
some  eggs,  fresh  meat,  and  dried  beef  nicely  chipped. 
As  Mrs.  Ewbank  laid  these  articles  out,  one  after  an 
other  on  the  kitchen  table,  a  few  rays  of  light  came  in, 
through  the  dark  clouds  that  encompassed  her  mind, 
and  her  heart,  which  had  been  lying,  for  hours,  almost 
like  a  stone  in  her  bosom,  moved  with  a  few  living 
pulsations.  Not  for  herself,  but  for  those  who  were 
dearer  to  her  than  life,  went  up  an  emotion  of  grati 
tude.  Brief  thanks  formed  themselves  on  her  lips.  A 
thought  of  her  dead  child,  lying  in  one  of  the  .rooms 
above,  stayed  her  feet,  as  she  was  going  to  the  cellar 
for  the  remainder  of  the  shattered  tub,  with  which  to 


86  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

kindle  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove  —  a  thought  of  the 
living  gave  them  motion  again. 

"  Go  up  and  dress  Jasper,  and  see  that  the  fire  burns 
while  I  get  some  breakfast.  As  soon  as  the  room  begins 
to  feel  warm,  let  in  just  a  little  air  through  the  back 
window.  Open  it  about  an  inch  at  the  top  and  bottom, 
and  see  that  it  doesn't  blow  on  your  father,  and  set  him 
to  coughing." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  ?  "  asked  Esther,  light  playing  in 
the  large,  sad  eyes,  that  were  lifted  to  her  mother's 
face. 

"  Yes,  you  may  tell  him."  The  mother  caught  her 
breath  to  repress  a  sob,  and  Esther  went  up  stairs.  It 
was  nearly  half  an  hour  before  Mrs.  Ewbank  followed 
with  a  cup  of  tea,  a  soft  boiled  egg,  and  some  toast,  on 
a  waiter,  for  her  husband. 

"  Take  Jasper  down.  You'll  find  some  breakfast 
there,"  she  said  to  Esther.  The  two  children  went  out, 
and  Mrs.  Ewbank,  after  placing  the  waiter  on  a  stand, 
shut  the  back  window,  which  had  remained  open  a  small 
space  at  the  top  and  bottom,  as  directed,  to  air  the  room. 
Then  getting  a  shawl  to  throw  over  the  arms  and 
shoulders  of  her  husband,  she  brought  the  stand  to  the 
bed-side,  saying,  in  an  encouraging  voice  — 

"  Now,  Henry,  you  must  eat  every  mouthful  of 
this." 

"  Have  you  eaten  anything  ? "  he  asked,  looking 
with  tender  concern  into  her  wan  face. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  87 

"  Never  mind  me.  I'll  do  well  enough.  Come ! 
Eat  some  of  this  nice  toast,  while  I  break  and  prepare 
an  egg." 

Mr.  Ewbank,  with  a  forced  effort,  raised  the  cup  of 
tea  and  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls.  As  he  was  remov 
ing  it  from  his  lips,  he  saw  tears  falling,  in  large  drops, 
silently,  over  the  cheeks  of  his  wife.  Her  hands,  busy 
with  the  egg,  moved  in  an  uncertain  way  —  the  tears 
were  blinding  her.  Sinking  down  into  the  bed,  Mr. 
Ewbank  drew  the  covering  over  his  face  to  hide  a  sud 
den  rush  of  feeling  which  he  had,  for  the  moment,  no 
power  to  subdue.  How  could  he  eat  with  his  dead 
darling  in  the  next  room  ;  dead,  and  he  in  such  ex 
tremity,  that  even  for  the  commonest  burial  rites  he 
must  be  indebted  to  charity.  A  thought  of  the  Potter's 
Field  for  that  precious  clay,  wrung  an  involuntary  groan 
from  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  Henry  I  Don't  give  way  now,"  sobbed  Mrs. 
Ewbank,  turning  to  the  bed,  and  stooping  doAvn  over 
her  husband.  "  It  seems  as  if  light  and  help  were 
coming.  You  said  the  darkness  would  not  always  last ; 
and  I  leaned,  in  my  feebleness,  on  your  confidence  in 
God,  and  did  not  utterly  fall.  If  you  had  given  way 
—  if  your  trust  had  failed,  Henry,  I  should  have  died. 
Bear  up  a  little  longer,  my  husband.  Our  Father  in 
Heaven  has  not  forgotten  us.  You  said  that  we  were 
in  His  remembrance,  and  that,  when  suffering  had  done 


88  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

its  work,  the  light  of  His  countenance  would  shine  upon 
us.  Is  it  not  beginning  to  shine,  Henry  ?  Is  it  not  a 
little  lighter  than  it  was  ?  Who  sent  us  food  in  this 
last  extremity?  Oh,  Henry!  take  courage." 

Mr.  Ewbank  drew  the  covering  from  his  face,  and 
looked  at  his  wife  in  wonder.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  heard  from  her  lips  a  sentence  that  expressed  con 
fidence  in  God.  Her  mind  had  always  been  very  dark 
in  this  direction  ;  the  windows  looking  skyward,  shut. 
Now  she  talked  of  hope  —  of  faith  in  God's  providence 
—  of  the  dawning  day  ;  and  tried,  in  this  his  moment  of 
weakness,  to  impart  strength. 

"  You  have  spoken  truth,  dear  wife  !  "  he  answered. 
Self-possession  restored.  "  In  all  the  circumstances  of 
our  lives,  even  to  the  minutest  particulars,  God  is 
present.  I  confidently  believe  this.  He  is  present  to 
us  now  in  loving  kindness  —  not  in  anger.  I  see  it  — 
I  feel  it." 

"  Take,  then,  what  He  has  sent."  And  Mrs.  Ewbank 
turned  from  the  bed  to  the  stand  on  which  she  had 
placed  the  food  prepared  for  her  husband.  "It  is  for 
the  preservation  of  your  life." 

She  took  the  plate  of  toast  and  held  it  for  him  to  eat. 

"  Will  you  not  eat,  also  ?      It  is  for  you  as  well  as 

for  me.     Both  of  us  have  work  to  do,  and  we  must  take 

food  in  order  to  gain  strength.     Let  us  walk  side  by 

side,  Lydia ;  step  for  step  ;  in  the  way  that  opens  for 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  89 

our  feet  —  leaning  upon  each  other,  in  our  weakness, 
for  mutual  support.  I  think,  with  you,  that  the  darkest 
hour  is  past  —  that  light  is  in  the  east.  Let  us  prepare, 
thankfully  and  hopefully,  for  the  coming  day.  It  will 
show  us  our  work,  and  we  must  have  strength  to  per* 
form  it." 

It  was  hard  for  either  the  husband  or  wife  to  keep 
back  the  tears  that  were  almost  flooding  their  eyes,  as 
they  compelled  themselves  to  share  the  food  which  had 
come,  heaven-sent,  in  their  extremity.  It  refreshed, 
revived  and  strengthened  them  both.  But,  higher 
strength  had  Mrs.  Ewbank  gained  —  strength  of  soul  — 
in  that  moment  of  despair,  when  she  saw  her  husband's 
heart  fail,  and  sprang  to  his  aid,  pointing  him  to  the  Strong 
for  strength  —  to  the  God  in  whom  he  had  trusted. 
Then  were  opened  the  long  shut  windows  of  her  dark 
ened  mind,  and  light  from  heaven  streamed  in.  She 
felt  new  Confidence  in  the  future ;  and  a  calmness  of 
spirit  that  gave  a  serener  asoect  to  her  countenance 
than  it  had  worn  for  months. 

In  this  state,  she  shut  herself  up  with  her  dead  child, 
and  alone,  performed  the  last  tender,  tearful  services  its 
pure  body  would  ever  receive  at  her  hands.  Then,  in 
its  white  robes,  she  bore  it  in  her  arms  to  the  chamber 
of  her  sick  husband,  and  held  it  for  him  to  look  upon. 
As  he  laid  his  lips  to  the  snowy  forehead,  he  murmured, 
tremulously  — 


90  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven/' 
There  were  many  tears  on  the  baby's  face  when  the 
mother  carried  it  back.     She  was  on  her  knees,  by  the 
bed-side,  as  Doctor  Hofland  entered  the  chamber  ;  not 
having  heard  him  in  the  room  below  nor  on  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


T  was  a  sight  to  move  the  coldest  neart. 
Doctor  Hofland  stood  still,  looking  up 
on  the  dead  child  and  the  kneeling 
mother  ;  stood  still  for  nearly  a  minute, 
an  unwilling  intruder  where  his  pres 
ence  seemed  like  a  desecration.  The 
mother  was,  to  all  appearance,  as  motion 
less  and  unconscious  as  the  child.  Si 
lently  retiring,  the  Doctor  entered  the  next  room. 
The  air  felt  softer  and  warmer  here,  for  there  was  a 
fire  on  the  hearth.  As  he  came  in,  Mr.  Ewbank,  who 
was  alone,  and  lying  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  turned 
in  the  bed.  He  did  not  speak.  The  Doctor  sat  down, 
and  taking  one  of  his  hands,  held  his  fingers  on  the 
wrist. 

"  How  was  your  cough  through  the  night  ?  " 

"  Easier." 

"  Has  it  troubled  you  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Very  little." 


92  /       WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Pulse  softer  and  slower.  No  fever.  A  very  de 
cided  improvement.  In  a  few  days  we  shall  have  you 
up,  Mr.  Ewbank." 

There  was  a  look  of  gratitude  in  the  sick  man's  glis 
tening  eyes,  for  Doctor  Hofland  spoke  with  kindness 
and  sympathy. 

"Death  has  been  here  since  I  saw  you  last  night.'* 
The  Doctor's  voice  dropped  to  a  lower  key. 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  came  in  mercy."  The  tones  were 
not  steady. 

"  All  the  ways  of  God  are  merciful." 

"  I  believe  so."  The  sick  man  shut  his  eyes.  It 
was  the  outward,  involuntary  expression  of  his  inward 
state.  He  was  walking,  in  the  dark,  by  faith,  not  by 
sight. 

O 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  this,  my  friend.  Such 
confidence  in  God  is  an  anchor  to  the  soul ;  a  light 
from  heaven  when  the  sun  is  obscured." 

A  silence  followed. 

"  When  did  little  Theo  die  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  About  day  dawn." 

44  So  the  two  mornings  met ;  for  him  the  spiritual 
morning  —  for  us  the  natural." 

Mr.  Ewbank  did  not  reply,  but  fixed  his  eyes  intent 
ly,  and  with  a  look  of  inquiry,  upon  the  Doctor's  face. 

"  Death  to  us ;  but  resurrection  to  him." 

"  I  know,    Doctor,"    said    Mr.    Ewbank,   speaking 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  93 

calmly,  "that  the  angels  have  taken  him.  I  know 
that  it  is  well  with  our  child.  If  a  word  of  mine  could 
restore  him,  that  word  would  not  find  utterance.  But 
we  are  natural  and  human ;  and  he  was  very  dear. 
For  myself,  I  can  bear  this  sorrow ;  but,  my  poor 
wife  !  "  His  voice  shook  as  he  closed  the  sentence. 

"  As  our  day  is,  so  shall  our  strength  be,"  answered 
the  Doctor.  "  God  will  comfort  her  heart  as  well  as 
yours." 

While  he  thus  spoke  the  door  leading  from  the  next 
room  opened,  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  came  in.  Her  face 
was  calm. 

"  How  is  my  husband,  this  morning  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  she  took  the  Doctor's  offered  hand.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him,  and  full  of  earnest  appeal. 

"  Better  —  much  better,"  was  the  assuring  reply. 

"  You  think  so,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  is  better  in  every  way.  With  good  nurs 
ing  and  right  medicine,  he  will  be  about  again  very 
soon.  I  think  I  understand  his  case,  ma'am.  You  see 
how  much  he  is  improved  already.  So,  take  heart. 
We  shall  make  a  sound  man  of  him." 

That  was  promising  too  much  ;  and  yet,  while  Mrs. 
Ewbank  knew  it  was  more  than  could  ever  be  accom 
plished,  she  took  heart  in  the  assurance. 

"  I  will  send  another  package  of  medicine,  to  be  ta 
ken  according  to  directions,"  added  the  Doctor,  as  he 
made  a  movement  to  go. 


94  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Wont  you  look  at  him,  Doctor?"  Mrs.  Ewbank 
laid  her  hand  on  the  door  through  which  she  had  just 
come.  They  went  in  together,  and  she  shut  the  door 
behind  her.  Then  turning  down  the  sheet  that  cov 
ered  her  dead  baby's  face,  she  said,  while  her  voice 
trembled  through  the  calm  surface  she  was  striving  to 
throw  over  it  — 

"  It  is  best  so,  Doctor.  I  see  it  now.  But  it  wras 
very  hard  to  give  him  up  —  very  hard  to  see  him  die. 
I  thought  it  would  kill  me." 

She  drew  the  white  sheet  over  the  dead  again.  Then 
turning  to  Doctor  Hofland,  she  regarded  him  steadily 
for  some  moments. 

"  You  do  not  know  me,"  she  said,  at  length. 

"  Know  you !  "  a  flash  of  surprise  swept  over  the 
Doctor's  face. 

"  Lydia  Guy,  that  was." 

"  Impossible  !  "  returned  the  Doctor. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  say  impossible,"  mourn 
fully  answered  Mrs.  Ewbank.  "  And  yet,  I  am  Lydia 
Guy  that  was.  Life  gives  strange  histories,  Doctor." 

"  Strange  indeed  !  But  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
this  last  night  ?  " 

"  The  time  had  not  come.  Something  stood  in  the 
way,  and  held  me  back.  It  may  have  been  pride  ;  but 
I  cannot  tell.  I  sent  for  you,  because  fear  lest  my 
child  should  die  overcame  all  reluctance.  I  knew  that, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  95 

if  human  skill  could  save  him,  you  would  not  fail.  It 
did  not  save  him.  You  came  too  late.  Not  for  my 
own  sake,  nor  even  for  my  children's  have  I  now  lifted 
the  veil  that  concealed  my  identity ;  but  for  my  hus 
band's.  Oh,  Doctor !  have  regard  for  him.  He  is  one 
of  the  best  of  men.  For  his  sake,  I  now  crush  back 
the  native  pride  which  would  have  let  me  die,  alone, 
with  sealed  lips,  and  tell  you  who  I  am.  Don't  fear 
that  my  husband  will  burden  you  in  any  way.  He  is 
neither  a  drone  nor  an  incapable.  You  have  skill  as  a 
physician,  and  influence  as  a  man.  Restore  my  hus 
band's  health  —  you  have  already  promised  that  —  and 
then  help  him  to  some  position  where  his  education,  his 
talents,  and  his  industry  will  make  both  him  and  his 
family  independent.  Oh,  Doctor  !  "  Mrs.  Ewbank  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  spoke  with  increasing  fervor. 
"  Help  us  now  !  Help  my  husband.  He  is  a  good 
and  a  true  man.  I,  his  wife,  say  this,  knowing  what  I 
say." 

-  "  Be  of  good  courage,  Lydia,"  answered  Doctor  Hof- 
land.     "  I  will  do  for  your  husband  all  in  my  power." 

"  God  bless  you  !  "  As  she  said  this,  sobbing,  Mrs. 
Ewbank  caught  the  Doctor's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Mrs.  Hofland  will  be  here  in  a  little  while,"  were 
the  assuring  words  spoken  by  Doctor  Hofland,  as  he 
turned  from  the  daughter  of  his  early  friend,  and  left 
her  with  tears  flooding  her  face;  tears  of  hope  — 


96  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

sweet,  not  bitter,  even  though  she  stood  in  the  death- 
chamber  of  her  latest  born. 

Since  the  Doctor's  entrance,  a  load  of  wood  had  been 
left  at  the  door,  and  a  sawyer  was  cutting  it.  Little 
Esther  had  brought  in  an  armful,  and  was  kindling  a 
fire  in  the  room  below.  She  paused  in  her  work,  look 
ing  up  at  the  kind-hearted  physician  as  he  came  down 
stairs. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  encourage 
ment.  "  Make  up  a  good  warm  fire,  and  drive  out  the 
winter."  And  he  passed  on,  leaving  the  house  and 
hurrying  homeward. 

"  I  have  a  strange  story  for  your  ears,"  said  Doctor 
Hofland,  on  meeting  his  wife.  "  The  sick  child  I  vis 
ited  last  night  is  dead." 

"  The  child,  whose  parents  you  found  in  such  desti 
tution,  and  to  whom  we  sent  a  basket  this  morning  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Better  in  heaven  than  with  them." 

"  Not  that  love  failed  in  the,  parents'  hearts  ;  but,  all 
God's  providences  are  right." 

u  What  is  your  strange  story?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hofland. 

"  You  remember  Lydia  Guy  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hofland  gave  a  start. 

"  She  is  the  mother  of  this  dead  babe." 

"  Why,  husband  ?  "  The  color  went  suddenly  out 
of  Mrs.  Hofland's  face. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  97 

"  It  is  true.  From  the  moment  I  looked  at  her  last 
evening,  and  heard  her  speak,  I  was  impressed  with 
something  familiar.  The  same  thing  struck  me  this 
morning.  But,  I  had  not  thought  of  Lydia.  You  may 
imagine  my  surprise  when  she  revealed  herself." 

"  So  much  for  an  imprudent  marriage  !  I  had  little 
hope  in  her  future ;  but,  I  did  not  think  of  a  fall  so  low 
as  this." 

"  She  may  be  rising  instead  of  falling,"  returned  the 
Doctor ;  "  and  from  something  I  observed  and  heard 
this  morning,  she  is  standing  in  a  higher  place  than 
when  you  saw  her  last." 

"  Internally  higher,  you  mean." 

"  Yes  ;  and  that,  you  know,  is  the  only  true  and  per 
manent  elevation." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Ewbank." 

"  Brady  was  the  name  of  the  man  she  married.  I 
remember  that.  She  must  be  living  with  a  second 
husband." 

"  Yes,  that  is  probably  so  ;  and  he  is  a  very  differ 
ent  man  from  the  first  husband.  Educated,  refined, 
religious  —  so,  in  a  brief  observation,  I  read  him  ;  and 
Lydia  said  to  me  —  '  he  is  one  of  the  best  of  men,'  with 
her  heart  in  her  voice.  Lena,  for  the  sake  of  your  old 
friend,  her  mother,  as  well  as  for  humanity's  sake,  go 
to  her  without  delay.  I  will  see  that  all  things  are 


98  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

fittingly  arranged  for  the  child's  burial.  In  the  ways 
of  Providence,  this  family  has  come  to  our  door,  and 
we  must  not  fail  in  duty.  It  is  my  intention  to  see 
her  brother,  Adam,  this  morning,  and  advise  him  of 
her  extremity.  He  cannot  know  the  state  of  destitu 
tion  in  which  she  is  living." 

"  It  might  save  you  an  unpleasant  interview  to  send 
him  a  note.  I've  heard  that  he  is  a  cold,  haughty 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Hofland. 

"  I  shall  not  regard  my  own  feelings  in  the  matter," 
replied  the  Doctor.  "  A  personal  interview  will  best 
serve  Lydia,  and  I  shall  seek  it  without  delay.  If  he 
will  yield  nothing  through  kindness,  or  humanity, 
shame  must  extort  unwilling  benefaction.  I  hold  a  key 
that  will  unlock  his  money  chest,  and  must  use  the  in 
strument,  be  the  gain  to  his  sister  ever  so  small." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DAM  Guy's  "  Lottery  and  Exchange 
Office"  was  on  Baltimore  street,  in 
an  old,  dingy,  two  storied  brick  house, 
built  in  the  preceding  century.  In 
each  of  the  lower  windows  was  a  paint 
ed  screen  ;  —  one  bore  a  figure  of  the 
goddess  Fortune,  blindfold,  standing 
on  an  immense  cornucopia,  from  which 
gold  and  silver  coin  were  pouring,  as  from  a  fountain ; 
the  other  screen  had,  under  the  words,  "  Prizes  sold  at 
this  Lucky  Office,"  the  tempting  figures,  $100,000  ; 
$50,000 ;  $30,000  ;  $20,000 ;  $10,000 ;  $5,000  ;  $4,000  : 
$3,000  ;  $2,000  ;  $1,000  ;  $500— arranged  in  lines  one 
under  the  other,  so  as  to  fill  the  whole  window.  Stand 
ing  on  each  side  of  the  door  were  other  canvas  screens, 
on  which  the  early  drawings  of  Virginia,  Maryland,  and 
Delaware  Lotteries  were  announced,  and  the  prices  of 
tickets,  half  tickets,  quarters,  and  eighths,  made  allur 
ingly  prominent. 


100  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  day,  when  Doctor 
Hofland  entered  this  office.  Three  persons  were  behind 
the  counter,  busy  in  the  work  of  exchanging  uncurrent 
money  for  coin  and  city  bills,  or  in  selling  tickets  to 
covetous  men  and  women,  who  had  more  faith  in  luck 
than  work.  One  of  these  persons  he  recognized  as  Mr. 
Guy,  and  waited  until  he  was  disengaged  . 

"  And  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Doctor  ?  "  said 
the  man  of  money,  a  business  smile  on  his  face,  as  he 
turned  to  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Can  I  have  a  few  words  with  you  in  private  ?  "  ask 
ed  the  Doctor. 

"  Certainly.  Walk  back,"  and  Guy  came  from  be 
hind  the  counter.  But  the  smile  had  gone  suddenly  out 
of  his  face,  which  now  wore  an  aspect  as  cold  and  as 
hard  as  iron.  The  two  men  retired  to  a  small  room, 
which  was  used  for  private  and  confidential  purposes. 

"  Take  a  chair,  sir."  It  was  as  if  another  man  had 
spoken,  so  changed  was  the  broker's  voice  from  what  it 
was,  when  he  said,  blandly,  "  And  now,  what  can  I  do 
for  you,  Doctor  ?  " 

The  offered  chair  was  accepted,  and  the  two  men  sat 
down,  at  a  small  table,  covered  with  baize. 

"Are  you  aware,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  coming  at 
once  to  the  business  in  hand,  "  that  your  sister  Lydia  is 
now  in  the  city." 

"  No,  sir.     I  am  not  aware  of  the  fact."     Guy's  man- 


WHAT   CAME   ArfTJ21iWASD&  :  '-  1C1 

ner  showed  both  annoyance  and  indifference ;  and  his 
hard  mouth  grew  harder. 

"  It  is  true.  I  discovered  her  this  morning,  under 
circumstances  of  a  distressing  character." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  her. 
She  took  her  own  way  in  life,  and  must  walk  in  it  to  the 
end.  She  is  no  more  to  me,  Doctor,  than  any  other 
woman." 

"  She  is  your  sister,"  answered  the  Doctor,  speaking 
firmly. 

"  As  you  choose  about  that."  The  man  showed  irri 
tation. 

"  No,  it  is  not  as  I  choose,  Mr.  Guy.  The  fact  stands 
by  itself,  and  words  cannot  change  it.  But,  I  did  not 
come  here  to  annoy  you ;  only,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  in 
form  you,  that  your  sister  is  in  a  very  distressed  condi 
tion.  Her  husband  is  too  sick  to  leave  his  room ;  one 
of  her  children  died  this  morning ;  and  she  is  without 
money  to  buy  food,  or  even  to  bury  her  dead." 

"  Did  you  come  here  at  her  instance  ?  "  demanded 
Guy. 

The  Doctor  answered  :  —  "  No,  I  came  at  my  own 
instance.  She  did  not  mention  your  name." 

"  Very  well."  Guy  spoke  in  a  short,  off-hand  man 
ner.  "  Let  it  be  so.  And  now,  Doctor,  we  must  un 
derstand  each  other.  I'll  give  you  one  hundred  dollars 
for  her  use  on  this  express  condition  : —  She  is  not  to 


AFTERWARDS. 

know  from  whence  it  comes.  Spend  it  for  her  in  your 
own  way.  I  leave  that  to  your  discretion.  But,  I  en 
join  this  obligation  —  be  silent  in  regard  to  me." 

"  Just  as  you  please  about  that,  Mr.  Guy,"  returned 
the  Doctor.  "  I  will  be  your  almoner,  and  keep  your 
secret." 

Guy  arose,  in  a  quick,  nervous  manner,  and  went  into 
the  front  office.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back,  clasp 
ing  some  bank  notes  in  one  of  his  hands. 

"  There,"  he  said,  almost  impatiently,  as  he  thrust 
them  towards  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  I  will  see  that  the  money  is  spent  so  as  to  do  the 
largest  service,"  remarked  the  latter,  as  he  took  the  bills. 

"  And  don't  mention  my  name.  I  must  repeat  that 
injunction." 

"  I  have  already  promised,  Mr.  Guy,"  answered  the 
Doctor,  with  just  enough  decision  in  his  voice,  to  make 
himself  felt  as  a  man  above  trifling  or  double  dealing. 
"  And,*'  he  added,  permit  me  to  remark,  that  what 
ever  you  may  feel  inclined  to  do  for  your  sister  in  her 
present  painful  extremity,  may  be  effected  without  fear 
of  intrusion  or  annoyance  for  the  future.  I  do  not  be 
lieve  that  either  Lydia,  or  her  husband,  will  ever,  of 
their  own  motion,  cross  your  path." 

"  Tell  that  to  the  marines !  "  was  half  lightly,  half 
gruffly  responded. 

"  The  old  pride  is  not  crushed  out  of  your  sister,  Mr, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS-  103 

Guy.  She  has  something  of  her  father's  spirit  left.  She 
can  suffer  but  not  humiliate  herself." 

"  May  be  so,"  was  returned.  But  the  fellow,  her  hus 
band,  is,  no  doubt,  of  a  different  kidney."  He  said  this 
with  an  air  of  heartless  indifference,  moving,  as  he  spoke, 
towards  the  front  office,  and  showing  his  desire  to  get 
rid  of  his  visitor. 

"You  will  find  yourself  mistaken  in  him  also,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  to  me  what  he  is,  Doctor  Hofland," 
replied  this  man,  facing  squarely  around  in  a  resolute 
way.  "  And  I  want  you  to  understand  once  for  all,  that, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  he  belongs  to  the  undistinguish- 
able  mass  of  paupers,  beggars  and  adventurers.  I  don't 
wish  to  hear  about  him  —  don't  want  to  know  him  — 
don't  care  whether  he  starves  to  death,  hangs,  or  is  drown 
ed."  Mr.  Guy  wrought  up,  suddenly,  into  a  state  of 
passion,  and  betrayed  more  than  seemly  intemperance 
of  speech. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  his  visitor,  with  contrasting 
calmness,  and  bowing  low,  retired.  There  was  a  degree 
of  unfeeling  brutality  about  Mr.  Guy  that  shocked,  pain 
fully,  the  feelings  of  Doctor  Hofland ;  and  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  shake  off  a  sense  of  humiliation 
produced  by  the  interview.  He  felt  like  one  who  had 
extorted  for  himself  an  unwilling  favor. 

As  in  nature,  so  in  life  ;  peace  and  tranquillity  ever 


104  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

succeed  to  stormy  periods  —  and,  usually,  the  sky  is  clear 
er,  and  our  vision  penetrates  farther  into  its  heavenly 
depths.  Winter  breaks,  often,  amid  lightning  and  thun 
der.  The  season  which  followed  closely  upon  that 
stormy  and  wintry  period,  wherein  it  seemed  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ewbank  that  everything  was  about  perishing,  was 
full  of  calmness  and  hope.  Lydia  had  unbounded  faith 
not  only  in  Doctor  Hofland's  willingness,  but  in  his  abili 
ty  to  aid  her  husband ;  and  she  inspired  Mr.  Ewbank 
with  a  like  confidence.  The  money  received  from  Mr. 
Guy  was  not  placed  in  their  hands,  but  expended  in  such 
ways  as  the  Doctor  thought  most  useful,  and  least  cal 
culated  to  wound  a  native  sense  of  independence,  which 
he  was  pleased  to  see  existed.  There  were  tender  inci 
dents  connected  with  little  Theo's  burial,  that  gave  to 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Hofland  new  opportunities  to  read  the 
stricken  hearts,  laid,  almost  bare,  before  them.  Every 
changing  aspect  of  character,  presented  by  Mr.  Ewbank, 
increased  their  respect.  There  was  a  basis  of  high  moral 
qualities  —  a  sensitive  honor  —  and  a  love  of  indepen 
dence,  that  marked  him  as  a  true  man.  They  found 
him  under  a  cloud ;  but,  already,  the  cloud  was  breaking. 
It  seemed  as  if,  for  discipline  and  use  to  others,  he  had 
been  kept  for  this  time,  perfecting  in  trial  and  suffering. 
Supplied  with  all  things  needful  to  health  and  strength  ; 
and  with  hope  beginning  to  rest  on  a  fairer  promise  in 
the  future,  Mr.  Ewbank  found  himself  rapidly  gaining 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  105 

his  lost  vigor  of  mind  and  body.  One  thing  was  especial 
ly  pleasing  to  Doctor  Hofland,  whose  interest  in  Lydia 
and  her  husband  daily  increased.  There  evidently  ex 
isted  a  very  tender  attachment  between  them  ;  and  it 
grew  plainer,  the  more  he  observed  and  studied  Lydia, 
that  she  regarded  her  husband  not  only  as  a  good,  but 
as  a  wise  man,  and  leaned  upon  his  judgment  of  things 
as  conclusive.  The  union  was  one  of  hearts  ;  and  the 
wife  had  found  in  her  husband  a  man  whom  she  could 
implicitly  trust  and  deeplylove  —  a  man,  who,  standing 
far  higher  than  she  had  stood,  was  steadily  raising  her 
to  his  serener  level.  It  was  only  a  part  of  needed  disci 
pline,  that  they  should  pass  under  the  cloud ;  but,  now 
that  it  was  lifting  itself,  and  the  sun  beginning  to  fall 
through  —  now  that  winter  had  broken,  and  the  air  be 
come  milder  —  the  motions  of  a  true  life  were  pervading 
their  souls  with  a  promise  of  another  spring  time,  anoth 
er  summer,  and  an  autumn  rich  in  fruitfulness.  So 
Doctor  Hofland  read  the  signs. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

N  a  few  weeks,  Mr.  Ewbank  was  so  far 
recovered,  that  he  was  in  condition  to  take 
almost  any  light  employment.  Through 
the  influence  of  Doctor  Hofland,  three 
or  four  scholars  in  Greek  and  Latin  were 
obtained.  So  favorably  were  these  im 
pressed  by  their  new  teacher,  and  so 
warmly  did  they  report  at  home  and  else 
where,  in  regard  to  him,  that  others  were  led  to  join 
the  class,  which  was  preparatory  to  a  college  course,  and 
made  up  of  the  sons  of  rich  men,  who  could  afford  to 
pay  liberally. 

Having  recommended  Mr.  Ewbank  to  some  of  his 
friends,  in  the  beginning,  Doctor  Hofland  felt  a  certain 
degree  of  responsibility,  which  caused  him  to  drop  in, 
now  and  then,  upon  the  teacher,  in  order  to  see  how  he 
conducted  himself  among  his  scholars.  With  each  visit 
he  became  more  and  more  impressed  with  his  superiority 
as  a  man.  There  was  nothing  small  or  weak  about 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  107 

him ;  nothing  of  that  petty  assumption  which  we  see  in 
the  mere  pedagogue.  Yet,  he  was  wholly  in  earnest 
with  his  pupils,  giving  himself  to  them  in  such  wise  and 
sympathetic  communications,  that  they  were  held  by  the 
very  pleasures  that  attended  reception. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  any  dull  boys  here,"  said 
the  Doctor,  one  day,  after  listening  to  some  brief  exer 
cises. 

"  They  are  not  all  bright,  as  that  word  is  commonly 
understood,"  answered  Mr.  Ewbank.  "  Among  a  dozen 
lads,  such  as  you  have  now  before  you,  will  always  be 
found  the  usual  differences.  Some  are  quick  of  appre 
hension,  responding,  like  polished  surfaces,  to  the  first 
glances  of  light,  while  others  must  dwell  for  a  portion 
of  time  in  the  sunbeams,  until  their  warmth  is  felt,  and 
then  there  is  motion  within.  It  is  the  teacher's  business 
to  distinguish  between  these  two  classes,  and  to  develop 
each  according  to  its  mental  peculiarity.  Often  it  will 
be  found,  that,  as  to  intellectual  power,  the  latter  is 
superior  to  the  former.  The  machinery  is  on  a  grander 
scale,  and  takes  more  heat  to  set  it  going." 

"  It  requires  faith  and  patience  to  deal  with  them 
aright,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  And  how  few  of  us  possess 
these  essential  qualities  !  All  is  so  plain  to  the  teacher, 
that  he  looks  for  flashing  responses,  when  his  pupils  are 
before  him.  If  any  hesitate,  or  falter,  or  stand  dumb, 
he  is  too  often  annoyed,  impatient,  or  angry  —  thus 


108  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

closing  their  minds.  And  so,  instead  of  helping,  he 
hinders  them.  If  you  have  learned  the  better  way, 
Mr.  Ewbank,  happy  are  the  dull  boys  who  come  under 
your  rule." 

"I  see  the  better  way,"  was  returned,  "  and  am  try 
ing  to  walk  in  it ;  but  I  fail,  in  some  things,  continual- 

iy." 

"  As  we  all  fail.  Imperfection  is  stamped  on  human 
things.  But,  always,  right  effort  in  any  direction  gives 
right  results.  These  may  be  very  small,  but  the  small 
est  gain  is  something." 

"  True,  Doctor ;  and  in  that  I  have  a  never-dying 
incentive.  If  I  make  a  single  step  in  the  right  direction, 
I  am  just  so  much  nearer  the  result.  A  step  to-day,  a 
step  to-morrow,  wearily  though  each  may  be  taken,  ad 
vance  me  towards  the  goal.  And  if  I  so  press  onward, 
in  each  day  as  it  it  is  given,  shall  I  not  look  back,  after 
many  days,  and  see  the  winding  path  of  an  accomplished 
journey  stretching  afar  off  in  the  fading  distance  ?  In 
my  experience,  Doctor,  the  gain  of  each  day,  in  any 
given  direction,  is  small.  We  must  work  and  wait. 
We  must  advance  one  single  step  at  a  time,  and  take 
hope  from  even  the  smallest  signs  of  progress." 

"  So  you  deal  with  your  pupils,  as  well  as  with  your 
self?" 

"  So  I  try  to  deal  with  them,  Doctor." 

"  Have  you  trouble  with  any  ?     There  are  the  in- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  109 

different,  as  well  as  the  dull.     A  dozen  boys  in  school, 
represent  almost  as  many  dispositions." 

"  I  first  gain  my  pupil's  respect  and  good  will." 
"  How  ?  That  is  a  secret  hidden  from  the  many." 
"  There  is  no  rule  applicable  to  all  cases,  unless  it  be 
this  —  kindness  of  feeling  towards  the  lad,  and  a  sincere 
desire  to  do  him  good.  Feeling  is  magnetic,  and  com 
municates  itself  by  laws  peculiarly  its  own.  If  there 
be  genuine  good  will  in  your  heart  for  any  with  whom 
you  are  in  contact,  it  will  be  known  without  the  inter 
vention  of  language.  Frst,  I  try  to  feel  right  towards 
my  pupil  —  to  forget  all  about  myself,  and  think  how  I 
can  best  serve  him.  In  regard  to  education,  I  have 
views  not  held  in  common  by  all  teachers  j  or,  if  held, 
not  acted  upon,  except  in  rare  instances.  My  effort  is, 
not  to  move  the  machinery  of  a  pupil's  mind  by  outside 
pressure,  but  to  set  it  going  by  virtue  of  a  force  gene 
rated  within,  and  to  direct  my  effort  chief  to  the  work  of 
feeding  that  force.  To  this  end,  I  do  not  make  the 
memory  a  storehouse,  cumbered  with  an  excess  of  ma 
terial  ;  but  give  chiefly  such  things  as  are  wanted  for 
present  use,  knowing,  that  in  such  use  comes  appropria 
tion  and  incorporation  into  the  mental  substance.  Plants 
grow  from  within  —  animal  bodies  grow  from  within  — 
each  by  a  law  of  life  that  takes  and  assimilates  nutrition, 
particle  by  particle.  By  the  same  law,  mind  grows. 
Its  food  is  knowledge.  But  knowledge,  when  present- 


110  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

ed,  is  crude.  The  mind's  digestive  organs  must  pass  it 
through  processes  exactly  corresponding  to  those  which 
take  place  in  the  animal  economy,  before  its  nutrition  is 
found  and  taken  into  the  soul's  substance.  I  cannot 
digest  for  my  pupil.  The  mere  transference  of  things 
from  my  memory  to  his,  cannot  give  him  intelligence. 
He  must  be  led  to  think  for  himself —  to  take  the  food  I 
give  and  pass  it  through  all  the  digestive  processes  for 
himself.  Then  he  has  healthy  life  —  then  he  grows. 
But,  to  weigh  down  his  memory  with  a  great  burden 
of  things  not  comprehended,  is  to  impede  growth,  and 
make  all  educational  processes  laborious,  distasteful  and 
imperfect.  Holding,  as  I  do,  to  a  perfect  correspondence 
between  the  mind  and  the  body,  as  to  functions  and 
laws  of  life,  I  take  it  for  granted  —  science  and  knowl 
edge  being  the  mind's  food  —  that,  if  this  food  is  given 
in  right  proportions  and  of  right  quality  to  children,  they 
will  receive  it  with  eagerness  and  delight ;  hunger  and 
thirst  always  succeeding  digestion  and  assimilation,  and 
calling  for  new  supplies  of  food.  You  see  how  much, 
regarding  education,  is  involved  in  all  this." 

"  Your  ideas  and  mine  run  parallel,  at  least  on  this 
subject,"  said  Doctor  Hofland.  "  It  is  one  on  which 
you  seem  to  have  thought  deeply." 

"  Yes." 

u  But,  neither  your  duties  nor  mine  will  permit  its 
further  discussion  now,"  and  the  Doctor  made  a  motion 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  Ill 

to  retire.  "  We  must  compare  notes,  however,  at  some 
future  time,  and  when  we  can  get  down  deeper  into  the 
subject.  I  see  that  your  theory  is  right  ;  and,  I  trust, 
your  practice  also  —  though,  in  my  observation,  Mr. 
Ewbank,  men  of  theory  almost  always  fail  in  applica 
tion.  Why  should  this  be  ?  " 

"  Because,  the  thought  is  usually  above  the  life," 
answered  Mr.  Ewbank. 

"  Give  me  your  meaning  in  other  words,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  Because  our  intellectual  states  are  higher  and  more 
progressive  than  our  affection al  states.  We  can  see 
more  than  we  are  willing  to  do.  The  mind,  as  you  are 
aware,  is  two-fold." 

"Yes." 

"  There  is  will  and  understanding." 

"  Yes." 

"  Feeling  being  predicated  of  the  one,  and  thought 
of  the  other." 

The  Doctor  assented  as  to  a  familiar  proposition. 

"  Thought  has  power  to  rise  above  the  actual  state, 
which  is  governed  by  what  we  love.  It  can  go  up  into 
clear  skies  and  serene  atmospheres,  and  make  to  itself  a 
dwelling  place,  all  beautiful  and  symmetrical.  But,  it 
must  descend  again  to  its  companion,  love ;  and  then, 
it  too  often  happens,  that  love  refuses  to  abide  in  the  new 
dwelling  which  thought  has  made,  and  holds  her  com- 


112  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

panion  down  to  the  old  mean  level.  And  so,  the  man, 
though  he  sees  what  is  right,  does  not  always  do  what  is 
best.  His  theory  is  true  ;  but,  when  he  comes  to  the 
work  of  application,  he  fails  for  lack  of  that  self- 
compulsion  which  takes  the  grovelling  affections  up  to 
the  nobler  heights  which  thought  has  power  to  gain." 

"Judging  from  what  I  see,"  remarked  the  Doctor, 
"  you  are  able  to  go  up  and  dwell  in  the  house  you  have 
builded.  In  other  words,  to  make  theory  and  practice 
one." 

Mr.  Ewbank's  face  did  not  brighten  as  we  see  the 
face  brighten,  sometimes,  under  a  compliment  that  gives 
pleasure.  If  there  was  any  change,  it  was  towards  a 
graver  aspect. 

"  No  man  knows  better  than  I  do,"  he  replied,  "how 
hard  it  is  to  force  the  lagging  spirit  into  right  ways. 
Success,  in  any  case,  is  too  intimately  associated  with 
memories  of  possible  and  impending  failure,  to  leave 
much  room  for  self-gratulation.  For  all  gain  of  good, 
I  am  profoundly  thankful ;  but,  the  gain  is  ever  so 
.hardly  won,  that  no  room  is  left  for  pride.  With  every 
enemy  we  conquer,  ten  come  into  view,  marshalling 
themselves  for  battle." 

The  two  men  stood  silent  for  some  moments,  under 
the  pressure  of  thought. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Doctor  Hofland.  "  We  must 
talk  about  these  things  again." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 


113 


"  Good  morning,  sir." 


The  physician  departed  on  his  mission  of  healing, 
and  the  teacher  remained  with  his  pupils,  strengthened 
for  his  work  through  the  Doctor's  kind  manifestation  of 
an  appreciative  interest,  so  rarely  met  by  persons  of 
his  peculiar  mind. 


CHAPTER  X. 

NLY  a  few  houses  had  been  erected  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  that 
spotless  shaft,  springing  two  hundred 
feet  in  the  air,  so  wonderfully  emble 
matic  of  the  strength,  purity,  and  ex 
quisitely  harmonized  proportions  of 
the  man  it  was  designed  to  symbolize 
and  honor  —  WASHINGTON.  In  one 
of  these,  Mrs.  Larobe,  the  wife  of  Justin  Larobe,  resided. 
Let  us  look  in  upon  her.  Time,  evening. 

Mrs.  Larobe  was  alone,  sitting  before  the  parlor  grate, 
looking  dreamily  into  the  fire.  Over  twenty  years  have 
passed  since  her  first  introduction  to  the  reader ;  and 
these  years  have  wrought  seriously  with  the  woman. 
She  has  gained  much  through  a  subtle  force  of  character, 
united  with  an  unscrupulous  will  —  much  as  to  things 
external.  But,  with  everv  gain,  was  suffered  some  loss 
that  touched  the  inner  life  —  some  disappointment  that 
left  an  aching  void  —  some  painful  sense  of  inadequacy 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  115 

or  short  coming  —  some  startling  discovery,  that  what 
seemed  gold  in  the  distance,  was  only  tinsel  and  dross. 
She  had  destroyed  a  goodly  temple,  in  order  that,  with 
the  costly  materials  thus  gained,  she  might  build  for  her 
self.  Alas  !  The  building,  as  stone  on  stone,  and  tim 
ber  on  timber,  went  into  their  places,  did  not  grow  out 
into  proportions  of  wonderful  beauty,  such  as  imagina 
tion  had  pictured.  It  was  weak  here,  unsightly  there, 
and  mean,  rather  than  magnificent,  in  her  eyes. 

At  fifty-five,  Mrs.  Larobe  had  the  same  light,  com 
pactly  built  form,  and  the  same  cleanly  cut  features, 
that  marked  her  as  Mrs.  Harte,  the  Housekeeper  of 
Adam  Guy,  more  than  twenty  years  before.  The  cold, 
light  blue  eye  was  as  steady  and  as  closely  veiled  to 
common  observers  as  then.  Her  dress  was  scrupulously 
neat  and  in  good  taste.  She  wore  a  small  cap,  orna 
mented  with  a  sprig  of  half  blown  roses ;  and  at  her 
throat,  pinning  a  lace  collar  of  rare  fineness,  sparkled  a 
diamond  of  considerable  value.  The  furniture  of  the 
room  in  which  she  sat,  corresponded  with  the  woman. 
Everything  was  in  good  taste.  There  was  no  excess  of 
articles ;  no  flaunting  display ;  no  incongruity.  In 
quality,  all  was  of  the  best  and  the  costliest. 

Though  we  find  in  this  woman  the  same  light  com 
pactly  built  form,  the  same  cleanly  chiselled  features, 
and  the  same  cold,  mysterious  eyes,  we  do  not  find  the 
same  expression  of  face.  The  inner  experiences  have 


116  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

cut  their  sign  of  suffering  and  disappointment  on  every 
lineament,  and  as  she  sits  alone,  dreamily,  before  the 
fire,  you  see  that  time  has  not  fulfilled  the  promise  of 
other  years. 

From  a  bronze  time-piece  on  the  mantle,  the  hour  of 
eight  rung  out.  Mrs.  Larobe  started  at  the  sound. 
At  the  same  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  a  girl  came 
in.  She  was  between  fourteen  and  fifteen,  had  a  va 
cant,  repulsive  face,  and  was  slovenly  dressed. 

"  Go  out,  Blanche !  "  said  Mrs.  Larobe,  in  a  short, 
cold  manner,  nodding  her  head  towards  the  door  through 
which  the  girl  had  just  entered.  But  the  intruder  took 
no  heed  of  this  injunction. 

"  Blanche  !  Go  out,  I  say  !  "  The  cold  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Larobe  flashed,  and  her  thin  lips  showed  signs  of 
feeling. 

"  Why  can't  I  stay  here  ?  "  answered  the  girl,  com 
mencing  to  draw  a  chair  towards  the  fire. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  you,"  was  sharply  replied. 

"  Nobody  wants  me,"  said  Blanche,  in  a  tone  that 
should  have  touched  the  mother's  heart.  "  Leon  snaps 
and  snarls  at  me  like  a  dog,  and  Herman  says  I'm  a 
fool,  and  pushes  me  out  of  the  room.  Can't  I  stay 
here,  ma?  " 

"  No  ;  I  said  no  at  first." 

"  I'll  lie  on  the  sofa,  ma.  I  wont  do  anything, " 
plead  the  girl. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  117 

Mrs.  Larobe,  whose  will  ever  sought  to  have  its  way, 
arose  with  a  quick  impulse,  and  catching  Blanche  by 
the  arm,  endeavored  to  lead  her  from  the  room.  But 
the  girl,  if  she  did  not  inherit  her  mother's  clear  intel 
lect,  had  something  of  her  stubborn  will. 

"  I'm  not  going  out,"  she  said  doggedly,  and  with 
resistance. 

Mrs.  Larobe's  mind  happened  to  be  in  a  chafed  con 
dition,  and  she  grew  very  angry  at  this  opposition. 

"  Go  instantly !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  full 
strength  into  her  arms,  and  pushing  Blanche  towards 
the  door.  Madly  the  girl  struggled  against  her  mother. 
Finding  herself  borne  along  in  spite  of  every  effort  to 
remain  in  the  room,  she  suddenly  relaxed  every  muscle, 
and  gliding  down  from  her  mother's  grasp,  sunk  upon 
the  floor  like  an  inanimate  mass. 

Almost  blind  with  passion,  Mrs.  Larobe  stooped  over 
her  child,  and  catching  her  two  hands,  commenced 
dragging  the  prostrate  body  towards  the  door. 

"  I'll  scream  if  you  don't  let  me  go,"  cried  Blanche, 
passionately. 

But  Mrs.  Larobe  did  not  heed  this  warning.  Then 
there  leaped  out  upon  the  air  such  a  strange,  wild, 
quivering  cry  that  even  Mrs  Larobe,  mad  as  she  was, 
started  in  surprise,  and  half  relinquished  her  hold.  It 
was  repeated  again  and  again,  more  like  the  shriek  of 
an  animal  than  the  cry  of  a  human  being. 


118  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Mrs.  Larobe,  in  stern  command. 

But  the  cry  went  on. 

"  Hush,  I  say  !  " 

She  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  wind.  Through 
her  own  cruel  blindness,  she  had  betrayed  this  weak 
and  disordered  human  soul  into  the  temporary  posses 
sion  of  evil  spirits,  who  were  now  tormenting  them 
both.  Finding  no  abatement  /in  the  loud,  unearthly 
screams,  Mrs.  Larobe  endeavored  to  close  the  mouth  of 
Blanche  with  her  hand,  and  had  partly  succeeded,  when 
she  heard  the  ringing  of  the  street  door  bell. 

"  Blanche  !  Blanche  !  Stop  this  instant !  Hark ! 
Somebody  has  rung  the  bell.  Get  up !  Get  up  ! 
Quick !  " 

As  the  servant  passed  along  the  hall,  on  her  way  to 
the  door,  Mrs.  Larobe,  in  despair  of-  forcing  her  daugh 
ter  to  cease  screaming  and  rise,  changed  instinctively 
her  tone  and  manner,  and  addressed  Blanche  coaxingly. 
This  had  the  better  effect. 

"  Come,  dear  !  Get  up  !  Some  one  is  coming  in. 
Don't  let  them  see  you  lying  here.  Hark  !  There's 
a  man's  voice.  Get  up,  and  run  out,  quickly." 

So  far  as  to  cease  screaming,  and  to  rise  from  the 
floor,  Blanche  obeyed  her  mother.  But  she  did  not 
stir  from  the  room.  While  the  two  were  yet  in  con 
tention,  a  man's  heavy  step  was  heard  along  the  hall. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  119 

The   door  of  the  front  parlor   was  opened  by  the  ser 
vant,  and  the  visitor  entered. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,"  said  the  servant, 
looking  into  the  back  parlor  from  the  hall. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Larobe,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  He  did  not  give  his  name." 

"Did  you  turn  up  the  gas  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Here,  take  Blanche  with  you." 

The  servant  advanced  a  step  or  two,  but  Blanche 
retreated  towards  the  grate,  frowning  and  distorting 
}•  r  face. 

•  I'm  not  going  out,"  she  muttered. 

"  But  you  must  go,  dear.  I  have  a  visitor,  and  you 
are  in  no  condition  to  be  seen,"  urged  her  mother, 
crossing  the  room  to  where  the  girl  had  retired,  and 
again  taking  her  by  the  arm. 

"  I'll  scream,"  said  Blanche,  with  a  threatening  look. 

Mrs.  Larobe  dropped  her  hand,  weak  and  baffled, 
before  this  imbecile  girl.  A  moment  or  two,  she  stood 
in  painful  resolution ;  then  ordered  the  servant  to  re 
tire. 

"  If  I  permit  you  to  stay,"  she  said  to  Blanche, 
"  you  must  hide  yourself  away  in  that  arm-chair,  and 
not  speak  a  word.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"Yes." 


120  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Very  well.  Now  sit  down,  and  keep  perfectly 
quiet." 

Blanche  took  the  chair  in  which  her  mother  had  been 
seated,  and  was  wheeled  to  some  distance  from  the 
grate,  towards  a  corner  of  the  room,  the  back  of  the 
chair  being  turned  towards  the  grate.  After  repeat 
ing  the  injunction  for  Blanche  to  remain  quiet,  Mrs. 
Larobe  crossed  to  the  folding  doors,  which,  until  now, 
had  been  closed,  and  throwing  one  of  them  open,  ad 
vanced  into  the  front  parlor,  where  a  fire  also  burned 
in  the  grate.  Before  this,  with  his  back  to  the  folding 
doors,  stood  a  man,  who  turned  at  the  moment  of  her 
entrance.  Mrs.  Larobe  stopped  suddenly,  a  frown  of 
displeasure,  not  unmingled  with  surprise,  crossing  her 
face.  The  man  bowed,  with  a  cold  formality,  that  had 
in  it  something  of  mockery.  His  eyes  were  sinister  in 
their  expression. 

"  Edwin  !  "  Mrs.  Larobe  uttered  the  name  like  one 
both  displeased  and  confounded. 

"  Madam  !  "     And  the  formal  bow  was  repeated. 

"  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  visit  ?  "  demanded 
the  woman,  retiring  into  the  placid  exterior,  with  which 
she  had  all  her.  life  veiled  so  much  of  passion. 

"  That  question  is  not  to  be  answered  in  a  single 
sentence,  madam,"  replied  the  visitor.  "  But  you  may 
be  yery  sure  that  except  for  a  matter  of  serious  import, 
I  would  not  be  here." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  121 

The  young  man's  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  Mrs. 
Larobe's  face,  and  he  saw  there  what  she  would  have 
given  much  to  conceal  —  a  sign  of  alarm. 

"  Be  seated,  Edwin."  There  was  a  change  in  Mrs. 
Larobe's  manner. 

The  young  man  drew  two  chairs  in  front  of  the 
grate,  and  motioned  Mrs.  Larobe  to  take  one  of  them. 
Almost  passively,  she  obeyed. 

44  Some  things  have  recently  come  to  light,  ma'am, 
that  have  a  bad  look."  The  visitor  spoke  slowly,  dwell 
ing  upon  one  or  two  of  his  words  with  marked  empha 
sis. 

Mrs.  Larobe's  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  his  coun 
tenance.  She  did  not,  however,  trust  herself  to  remark 
upon  a  sentence,  the  whole  meaning  of  which  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  guess. 

44  A  very  bad  look,"  repeated  Edwin  Guy,  the  wo 
man's  step-son,  for  he  it  was. 

44  Whom  do  they  concern  ? "  Mrs.  Larobe  asked, 
feigning  indifference,  and  veiling  the  uneasiness  which 
fluttered  around  her  heart  under  an  icy  coldness  of 
manner. 

44  They  concern  you,  and  me,  and  every  member  of 
the  family  !  " 

So  quickly  and  emphatically  was  this  thrown  out, 
that  it  gave  Mrs.  Larobe  a  visible  start.     Edwin  saw 
6 


122  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

her  face  blanch,  and  the  expression  of  her  steel-cold 
eyes  change. 

"  Concern  me,  Edwin  ?  "  The  woman  tried  to  re 
gain  her  self-possession,  but  only  with  partial  success. 

"  You,  perhaps,  most  of  all,"  said  Edwin. 

"  What  about  my  mother  ?  "     Here  broke  in  a  thin, 

sharp  voice,  and  looking  past  his  step-mother,  Edwin 

• 

saw  the  half  wild,  half  vacant  face  of  Blanche,  thrust 
eagerly  out  in  a  listening  attitude,  only  a  few  yards 
distant. 

Springing  up,  with  an  almost  cat-like  bound,  Mrs. 
Larobe  turned  towards  Blanche,  and  catching  her  by 
the  shoulders,  swept  her  from  the  room,  ere  the  girl  had 
time  to  collect  herself  for  resistance,  and  bearing  her 
back  to  one  of  the  rear  rooms,  gave  her  in  charge  of  a 
servant,  with  an  injunction  and  a  threat  so  fiercely  ut 
tered,  that  both  child  and  servant  were  left,  on  her  de 
parture,  in  no  mood  to  disregard  her  will. 

For  a  few  moments,  Mrs.  Larobe  stood  in  the  hall, 
near  the  parlor  doors,  smoothing  down  her  ruffled  feel 
ings,  and  schooling  her  countenance  into  an  aspect  of 
indifference.  Edwin  was  pacing  the  floor  as  she  entered. 
Pausing,  and  folding  his  arms,  he  fixed  his  eyes  keenly 
upon  her,  and  stood  thus  regarding  her  until  she  reach 
ed  and  resumed  the  chair  from  which  she  had  arisen  so 
abruptly  a  little  while  before. 

"  You,  madam,  perhaps,  most  of  all,"  said  Edwin,  as 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  123 

he  also  sat  down,  yet  not  removing  for  an  instant  his 
gaze  from  Mrs.  Larobe's  countenance. 

44  Say  on."     She  spoke  with  assumed  indifference. 

44  My  father  !  " 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered,  more  than  the 
reference  itself,  caused  Mrs.  Larobe  to  start. 

"  What  of  him  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  slight  betrayal 
of  uneasiness. 

44  Has  had  foul  play." 

44 1  was  not  aware  of  it  before."  The  sentence  did 
not  come  with  a  free  breath,  which  Edwin,  all  on  the 
alert,  perceived. 

44  Murder  will  out,  ma'am !  Wrong  does  not  sleep 
forever  ;  sooner  or  later  it  cries  up  from  the  earth." 

"So  they  say."  There  was  a  slight  expression  of 
irony  in  Mrs.  Larobe's  voice ;  but  it  not  hide  completely 
her  true  state  of  mind. 

44  And  it  has  not  slept  in  this  case.  You  are  betray 
ed,  madam ! " 

The  covert  defiance  in  Mrs.  Larobe's  tones  had  prick 
ed  the  feelings  of  Edwin,  and  led  him  to  this  outspoken 
sentence. 

44  Betrayed !  "  Guilt  revealed  its  terror  in  the  woman's 
white  face  and  quivering  lips. 

44  Yes,  you  are  betrayed,  miserable  woman  !  " 

44  Betrayed  in  what  ?  "  she  asked,  seeking  to  regain 
her  self-possession. 


124  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  As  an  accomplice  in  the  death  of  my  father." 

Mrs.  Larobe  took  a  long,  deep  breath.  She  did  not 
respond  for  some  time.  Edwin  waited  for  her  to  reply. 
At  length  she  said,  speaking  calmly  — 

"  His  death  was  wholly  accidental.  In  trying  to  es 
cape  from  the  confinement  made  necessary  by  insanity,  he 
fell  from  a  window,  and  was  killed.  I  was  not  there." 

"  But  my  father,  a  sane  man,  was  there  through  your 
wicked  contrivance.  I  have  the  whole  story,  ma'am ; 
from  the  drugging  to  the  forced  removal  to  an  infernal 
prison  on  Long  Island.  Doctor's  evidence,  keeper's  ev 
idence,  and  subordinates'  evidence  —  all  written  down 
in  due  form,  and  attested,  and  in  the  hands  of  counsel. 
Doctor  Du  Pontz  will  be  in  court,  and  you  know  what 
he  can  tell." 

"  Doctor  Du  Pontz !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Larobe,  pal 
ing  again. 

"  Yes,  Doctor  Du  Pontz,  of  the  mad  house  on  Long 
Island.  Accomplices  in  crime  are  never  safe  depositories 
of  our  secrets,  madam.  When  the  courts  take  hold  of 
them,  self-preservation  becomes  the  first  law  of  nature." 

"  Edwin,"  said  Mrs.  Larobe,  her  whole  manner 
changing,  "  let  me  understand  you  fully.  Why  are 
you  here  ?  " 

"  To  obtain  my  share  of  my  father's  estate,  wrong 
fully  withheld  by  you,  under  a  forged  or  forced  will, 
which  I  have  sufficient  evidence  to  break,  and  will  break, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  125 

if  no  easier'  road  is  opened  to  the  end  I  am  sworn  to 
reach.  I  have  spoken  plainly,  madam  ;  do  you  compre 
hend  ?  " 

Mrs.  Larobe  took  thought  before  answering. 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  Edwin,"  she  said,  speak 
ing  with  deliberation." 

"  Say  on." 

"  You  are  here  to  extort  money  from  a  woman  imagin 
ed  to  be  in  your  power." 

A  deep  flush  of  anger  darkened  the  face  of  Edwin, 
even  to  the  temples. 

"  I  am  here,"  he  answered,  sternly,  "  for  justice  ; 
and  it  must  come,  easy-handed  or  hard-handed.  The 
choice  lies  with  you.  Through  fair  concession,  or  open 
force — just  as  you  will,  madam.  If  you  can  show  a 
fair  record  in  open  court,  defy  me  to  the  contest ;  if  not, 
beware  !  There  is  bad  blood  between  us,  as  you  know ; 
and  I  shall  not  scruple  to  destroy  you,  if  my  interest 
goes  wholly  over  to  the  side  of  feeling." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Larobe. 

"  I  have  said  what  I  want." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  My  share  in  my  father's  estate." 

"  What  is  your  share  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five  thousand  dollars ;  and  I  received  but 
ten." 

"  You  largely  over-estimate  your  father's  property." 


126  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  No ;  I  have  told  the  sum  of  its  value  to  the  last 
dollar ;  and  my  share  is  twenty-five  thousand,  which  I 
am  bound  to  realize,  principal  and  interest.  Having 
taken  the  best  legal  advice  our  city  affords,  I  knew  just 
where  I  stand." 

"  Who  is  your  lawyer  ?  " 

Edwin  shook  his  head,  and  smiled  in  a  sinister  way. 

"  Does  Adam  know  of  this  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Larobe. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Or  Frances  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  for  two  years." 

"  You  are  moving  alone,  then  ?  " 

"  Alone  for  the  present.  But  when  the  matter  comes 
into  court,  I  shall  not,  of  course,  stand  alone.  The  case 
will  be  open  to  all  eyes.  Adam  has  received  his  share ; 
but  Frances,  and  Lydia,  who  will  no  doubt  be  at  once 
forthcoming,  have  claims  to  an  equitable  division,  par 
allel  with  mine.  Lydia,  having  only  received  one  thou 
sand  dollars  under  the  extorted,  and  therefore  void  will, 
must  have  the  largest  award." 

Mrs.  Larobe  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  floor,  and  sat 
for  a  long  time  in  deep  thought. 

"  Come  and  see  me  again  to-morrow  night,  Edwin. 
I  must  have  time  to  think  on  this  subject.  It  involves 
too  much  for  any  hasty  decision." 

"  It  has  narrowed  itself  down  to  very  simple  posi 
tions,"  answered  the  young  man,  "  and  may  be  settled 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  127 

in  three  minutes.  You  can  have  a  law  suit,  with  its 
consequent  exposure  and  certain  disaster ;  for,  as  I  have 
told  you,  I  am  in  possession  of  evidence  clearly  estab 
lishing  the  fact,  that  you  and  your  present  husband  con 
spired  to  murder  my  father,  and  succeeded  in  effecting 
your  hellish  design  through  the  intervention  of  a  villain 
named  Du  Pontz  ;  or,  you  can  have  immunity  and  se 
curity  through  concession  to  my  just  claim.  I  am  poor, 
because  your  and  your  husband  robbed  me —  I  speak  a 
plain  language,  madam  —  and  am  in  pressing  need  of 
money.  Necessity  offers  us  stern  and  conclusive  argu 
ments,  and,  yielding  to  these,  I  am  ready  to  forego  jus 
tice  and  vengeance  for  the  present  good  I  seek.  But, 
if  this  be  withheld,  then  for  the  long  and  sterner  task 
of  dragging  iniquity  into  light,  and  gaining  my  ends  by 
force.  I  have  but  to  cry  this  game,  and  a  pack  of  hounds 
will  be  on  the  scent.  Now,  madam,  you  understand  me  : 
and  you  must  elect  accordingly." 

"  What  security  have  I  that  you  will  keep  the  secret 
you  profess  to  hold?"  said  the  pale-faced,  agitated 
woman  —  agitated  in  presence  of  an  appalling  danger, 
beyond  all  power  of  concealment. 

"  Only  my  word,"  answered  Edwin.  "  No  other  se 
curity  is  possible  in  a  case  like  this." 

"  Only  the  word  of  a  bitter  enemy."  Mrs.  Larobe 
spoke  partly  to  herself. 


128  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Better  trust  to  him,  than  to  the  law's  tender  mer 
cies.     Better  conciliate  one  enemy,  than  defy  a  score." 

Mrs.  Larobe's  figure  shrunk  in  the  chair,  as  if  under 
the  pressure  of  a  heavy  weight.  Her  mind  seemed  par 
alyzed  by  crowding  fears. 

"  Edwin  I  must  have  time  to  think,"  she  said  almost 
fretfully. 

ki  Madam,  I  cannot  wait.  To-night  you  must  decide," 
was  answered,  sternly.  "  When  I  leave  here,  I  take 
your  yea  or  nay." 

"  And  if  nay  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  the  case  will  go  to  court.  My  lawyer 
has  everything  ready,  and  the  town  will  be  startled  by 
revelations  of  an  astounding  character." 

"If  yea?" 

"  And  your  word  is  kept,  ruin  and  disgrace  are  turn 
ed  aside." 

"  What  will  yea  involve?  "  The  woman's  face  was 
still  very  pale,  but  she  was  now  speaking  calmly. 

"  I  call  my  share  of  the  estate,  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars,  of  which  I  received  ten  thousand.  My  claim  is 
for  the  balance,  with  interest  since  the  period  of  my 
father's  death.  I  demand  nothing  more,  and  will  take 
nothing  less  ;  so  chaffering  as  to  the  sum  will  be  just  so 
much  lost  time,  to  say  nothing  of  the  irritation  and  ill- 
blood  it  will  create.  I  am  in  a  position  to  name  my  own 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  129 

terms,  and  I  shall  not  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  full 
demand." 

Again  the  woman  was  silent,  thought  beating  around 
on  every  side  in  a  fruitless  endeavor  to  find  a  way  of 
escape  from  impending  danger.  To  yield  even  a  small 
part  of  Edwin's  demand,  under  almost  insolent  threats, 
was  so  deep  a  humiliation,  that  the  bare  idea  revolted 
her  soul ;  yet,  to  brave  what  lay  beyond  was  more  ter 
rible  still.  She  could  measure  the  evil  on  one  side,  with 
some  degree  of  accuracy ;  but  on  the  other,  it  swelled 
up  vaguely  to  almost  illimitable  proportions.  It  was  a 
mountain  which,  if  it  fell  upon  her,  must  grind  her  to 
powder. 

"  You  will  not  give  me  time  for  reflection  or  consul 
tation,"  she  said,  in  a  weak  way,  for  the  bold,  defiant 
spirit  had  gone  out  of  her. 

"  Consultation  !  Madam,  the  secret  is  yours,  and 
mine,  and  my  lawyer's  to-night,"  said  Edwin,  in  a  warn 
ing  tone.  "  I  did  not  come  here  until  the  mine  was 
ready  and  the  train  laid.  Let  me  admonish  you  to 
circumspection.  If  there  is  to  be  consultation,  our 
parley  closes.  I  will  not  wait  for  your  subtle  villain  of 
a  husband  to  calculate  the  board,  but  checkmate  you 
all  in  a  single  move.  I  hold  the  advantage,  and  will 
not  let  it  pass.  When  I  leave  here  to-night,  I  must 
take,  as  already  said,  your  yea  or  nay.  If  nay,  to-morrow 

morning,  when   the  court  opens,  our  proceedings  will 
6* 


130  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

commence.  And  then,  you  know  what  must  follow. 
The  indictment  will  be  for  criminal  offences,  and  when 
the  trial  closes,  you  will  hardly  escape  a  prison." 

Edwin  saw  a  shiver  run  through  the  frame  of  his  step 
mother. 

"  You  have  me  in  your  power,"  she  said,  slightly 
rallying,  "  and  are  taking  a  base  advantage." 

"  Yes,  I  have  you  in  my  power,"  answered  the  young 
man,  "  as  you  once  had  my  unhappy  father  in  your 
power.  But,  I  will  not  take  the  base  and  wricked  ad 
vantage  you  took  of  him.  A  simple  act  of  justice,  and 
you  are  safe  and  free.  Withhold  that,  and  I  wrench 
from  your  hands  what  I  claim  of  right,  and  in  the  act, 
destroy  you.  A  wise  and  prudent  woman  cannot  hes 
itate  long  as  to  a  choice  between  these  evils." 

"  The  sum  you  demand  is  large,  Edwin.  It  is  im 
possible  for  me  to  control  such  an  amount,"  said  Mrs. 
Larobe. 

"  Your  misfortune,  if  you  cannot  do  so,"  was  coldly 
replied. 

"  Real  estate  cannot  be  sold  or  mortgaged  except 
through  my  husband." 

"  You  have  stocks.  But,  I  am  not  here  to  discuss 
questions  of  this  nature.  If  you  will  not,  or  canno.t, 
satisfy  my  just  claims  against  the  estate,  say  so,  and  I 
will  trouble  you  with  my  presence  no  farther,"  and  jie 
moved  a  pace  or  two  towards  the  door. 


WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS.  131 

"  I  have  eight  thousand  dollars  in  Union  Bank  stock." 
A  sense  of  most  imminent  danger  extorted  this. 

Edwin  returned  a  pace  or  two  into  the  room. 

"  For  the  present,  anything  beyond  that  is  hopeless," 
added  Mrs.  Larobe. 

Eager  as  the  young  man  felt  to  grapple  after  this 
large  sum  of  money,  and  secure  its  possession,  he  was 
politic  enough  to  affect  scarcely  a  sign  of  interest. 

"  Only  a  third  of  my  claim.  It  will  not  do,  mad 
am,"  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"  If  you  will  take  this  stock  and  give  me  time." 

"  How  much  time  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say.  Three,  six,  or  even  twelve 
months  may  intervene,  before  I  am  able  to  arrange  for 
the  balance." 

Edwin  stood  for  some  time  with  his  eyes  cast  down. 
Then  he  crossed  the  room ;  wheeled  sharply  and  came 
back  again  —  crossed  once  more,  and  then  returned. 
Meantime,  Mrs.  Larobe  was  in  a  tremor  of  suspense. 
She  had  made  the  best  offer  in  her  power  ;  for  her  un 
scrupulous  husband  had  so  managed  her  property  as  to 
place  the  control  of  it  almost  entirely  out  of  her  hands. 

"  Madam,"  said  Edwin  Guy,  pausing  before  his  step 
mother,  "  let  me  understand  your  proposition.  Say 
the  best  you  can  do,  and  I  will  answer,  in  less  than  five 
minutes.  The  sum  of  principal  and  interest  due  me,  I 
will  call,  in  round  numbers,  twenty  thousand  dollars. 


132  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

A  net  calculation  of  interest  would  make  it  exceed  that 
amount.     You  can  pay  eight  thousand  down." 

"  Yes,"  faintly  murmured  Mrs.  Larobe. 

"  And  the  balance  when  ?  " 

"  Not  sooner  than  within  a  year." 

Edwin  shook  his  head.  Mrs.  Larobe's  face  was  pale, 
her  lips  colorless,  her  nerves  in  a  tremor.  She  had 
taken  fear,  as  a  guest,  into  her  bosom,  and  fear  had 
gained  the  mastery  over  her. 

"  If  within  six  months,  I  might  accept  your  offer." 
Edwin  spoke  as  one  whose  mind  was  only  half  made 
up. 

"  In  three-quarters  of  a  year,  I  may  succeed  in  getting 
so  large  a  sum  together,"  said  Mrs.  Larobe. 

Again  Edwin  walked  the  floor,  and  his  step-mother 
still  sat  in  her  agony  of  suspense.  Here  was  the  only 
door  of  escape,  and  she  was  ready  to  fly  through  it, 
when  opened  wide  enough,  shuddering  with  terror. 

"  This  I  will  do,"  said  the  young  man  — "  this,  and 
only  this."  He  spoke  as  one  dictating  terms  to  an 
enemy  wholly  in  his  power.  "  I  will  take  your  two 
checks  for  four  thousand  dollars  each,  dated  on  to-morrow 
and  the  day  after.  This  will  give  you  time  to  sell  your 
stock.  I  will  not  present  the  check  dated  to-morrow, 
until  after  one  o'clock,  in  order  that  you  may  get  in 
your  deposit.  For  the  balance  of  twelve  thousand 
dollars,  I  will  take  your  three  notes  at  three,  six,  and  nine 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  IS 3 

months,  each  for  four  thousand .  In  return  for  them, 
I  will  write  you  out  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  claim  against 
mv  father's  estate,  thus  removing  every  legal  basis  for  a 
suit.  Furthermore,  I  will  take  the  most  solemn  oath  you 
may  prescribe  never  to  move  myself,  or  in  any  way  in 
stigate  others  to  move  against  you  in  regard  to  your 
foul  dealings  towards  my  father.  To-night,  not  a  living 
soul,  beyond  my  lawyer,  knows  of  the  well  linked  evi 
dence  I  possess  bearing  on  this  subject.  It  shall  sleep 
with  us,  safe  as  in  a  tomb." 

What  was  left  for  the  frightened,  confounded,  bewild 
ered  woman  !  She  was  in  the  hands  of  one  who  had, 
she  verily  believed,  the  power  utterly  to  destroy  her, 
and  she  dared  not  defy  him  to  the  worst.  It  was  in 
vain  that  she  pleaded  for  time  to  consider  —  for  a  single 
day.  Edwin  was  inexorable.  Now,  he  felt,  that  he 
could  work  his  will.  To-morrow  might  be  too  late. 

"  Now  or  never,"  was  his  stern  answer  to  all  plead 
ings  and  remonstrances. 

"  Edwin  Guy,"  said  Mrs.  Larobe,  as,  half  an  hour 
afterwards,  she  handed  her  step-son  the  checks  and 
notes  he  had  demanded,  and  received  his  receipt  in  full 
against  the  estate  — "  Edwin  Guy,  this  is  a  hard  neces 
sity."  She  had  regained  much  of  her  old,  self-poised 
manner. 

"  You  have  still  your  option,  madam,"  answered  the 


184  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

young  man,  holding  the  papers  so  that  she  might  receive 
them  back. 

"  I  have  made  my  election,"  she  replied,  "  and  it 
must  stand.  In  your  honor,  Edwin,  I  confide." 

"  My  honor  is  sacred.  I  will  be  as  silent  as  the  grave  ; 
yet,  only  on  one  condition." 

"  What  ?  "     Mrs.  Larobe's  face  paled  a  little. 

"You  are  to  be  as  silent  as  the  grave  also.  If  you 
betray  anything  of  this  transaction  to  a  living  soul,  I 
shall  hold  myself  free  of  all  pledges.  I  warn  you  to  be 
discreet !  " 

"  Fear  not  my  discretion,"  was  answered  ;  "  I,  too, 
will  be  as  silent  as  the  grave." 

"  Be  it  so,  madam  —  and  silence  shall  be  your  pledge 
of  safety.  Good  night !  " 

And  ere  the  miserable  "woman,  on  whom  the  son  of 
Adam  Guy  had  wrought  this  sharp  retribution,  had 
time  to  rally  herself,  Edwin  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HE  scene  described  in  the  last  chapter, 
took  place  nearly  three  months  after 
Edwin  Guy's  first  interview  with  Doc 
tor  Hofland  in  regard  to  his  father. 
Larobe  had  proved  himself  a  more 
skilful  strategist  than  either  Edwin  or 
his  lawyer,  Glastonbury,  had  anticipat 
ed,  holding  off  his  assailants,  now  by  a 
bold,  and  threatening  front,  and  now  deceiving  them  by 
feigned  movements,  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week, 
all  the  while  endeavoring  to  entrap  Guy  into  some  false 
position,  where  he  could  cripple  or  destroy  him  at  a  single 
blow.  Not  once,  after  his  first  interview  with  Guy,  did  he 
betray  to  that  individual  the  smallest  sign  of  apprehension, 
concern,  or  concession.  Forewarned,  forearmed.  At 
the  second  interview,  he  was  self-possessed,  and  very 
reticent.  He  listened,  coldly  and  patiently,  to  all  the 
young  man  had  to  say,  leading  him  on  by  casual  ques 
tions,  made  in  a  tone  that  was  almost  indifferent,  and  get- 


136  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

ting  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  thoughts  and  purposes, 
while  he  closely  veiled  his  own. 

The  threatened  suit  was,  in  the  mind  of  Edwin,  only 
a  last  resort.  All  he  wanted  was  money,  and  the  short 
est  way  to  that  end  was  the  way  in  which  he  meant  to 
walk.  The  foul  play  to  his  father,  of  which  he  was  only 
in  possession  of  dark  hints,  notwithstanding  his  pre 
tence  of  knowing  so  much,  might  go  unavenged,  so  that 
he  could  clutch  a  fair  portion  of  the  devised  estate.  The 
longest  and  most  doubtful  way  to  reach  the  object  of 
his  desire,  was  through  the  courts.  In  the  beginning, 
it  had  seemed  the  surest,  and,  probably,  the  only  way ; 
but  the  alarm  and  anxiety  betrayed  by  Larobe  at  the 
first  interview,  left  a  strong  conviction  on  his  mind,  that 
the  lawyer  would,  to  avoid  the  perils  and  disgrace  of  a 
suit,  yield  to  almost  any  demand  he  chose  to  make. 
He  felt  certain  that  he  had  him  in  his  power ;  and  be 
gan  to  count  over,  in  fancy,  his  thousands  of  dollars, 
as  already  in  possession. 

But,  his  second  interview  with  Larobe,  dashed,  with 
a  chill,  the  young  man's  rosy  anticipations,  and  removed 
to  an  uncertain  distance  that  fruition  on  which  he  had 
just  seemed  entering. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  rising  to  withdraw,  after  an 
hour's  unsatisfactory  skirmishing  with  the  lawyer,  "  that 
you  wave  all  arrangements,  and  mean  to  accept  the  perils 
of  a  suit  ?  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  137 

"  I  did  not  say  so."  The  tones  of  Larobe  were  al 
most  indifferent. 

"  So  I  read  the  meaning  of  what  you  have  said  to 
night,  and,  accepting  that  meaning,  I  shall  proceed  to 
act  accordingly." 

Something  like  a  suppressed  cough  in  the  room  ad 
joining,  reached  at  this  moment  the  ears  of  Edwin  Guy, 
and,  glancing  towards  a  communicating  door,  he  saw 
that  it  stood  ajar.  He  did  not  observe  the  wary,  al 
most  anxious  look  fixed  on  him  by  the  lawyer,  as  his 
attention  was  turned  for  an  instant  on  this  door. 

"  I-cannot  limit  your  actions,  of  course,"  evasively 
answered  Larobe.  "  All  I  can  do,  is  to  govern  my 
own." 

There  succeeded  a  silence  of  nearly  half  a  minute, 
when,  no  further  remark  being  offered  by  the  lawyer, 
Guy  commenced  crossing  the  room,  with  the  purpose 
of  retiring.  His  hand  was  on  the  door. 

"  Edwin,"  said  Larobe. 

The  young  man  turned  partly  around. 

"  Take  a  word  of  advice  in  this  matter." 

"  Say  on." 

"You  are  a  little  too  eager — are  trying  to  move 
too  fast."  There  was  just  a  shade  of  irony,  or  sarcasm, 
in  the  lawyer's  voice. 

Guy  stood  still,  looking  at  him,  but  not  venturing  a 
reply. 


138  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  And  may  get  thrown  from  the  track.  So,  I  coun 
sel  prudence." 

"  When  the  devil  offers  good  advice,"  said  Guy, 
stung  by  something  like  contempt  in  Larobe's  manner, 
"  we  may  safely  assume  that  he  is  altogether  disinter 
ested,  and  has  our  good  at  heart." 

Larobe  only  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Good  evening." 

"  Good  evening,  Edwin.  If  you  wish  another  inter 
view  before  commencing  your  suit,  make  free  to  call. 
As  I  have  already  said,  I  am  still  your  friend.  It  will 
be  for  you  to  set  me  over  to  the.  enemy's  side  ;  and  it 
is  but  fair  to  warn  you,  that,  as  an  enemy,  I  am  never 
scrupulous.  You  are  treading  on  dangerous  ground,  as 
your  own  lawyer,  if  he  be  honest,  will  tell  you.  An 
attempt  to  extort  money,  under  threat,  is  a  crime  in  law  ; 
and  you  will  be  a  sharp  man  at  the  business,  if  you  get 
through  without  punishment." 

"  Justin  Larobe  !  "  said  the  young  man,  flashing  out 
in  sadden  anger,  "  I  know  the  length  and  breadth, 
even  to  the  thousandth  part  of  an  inch,  of  your  friend 
ship  for  me  —  it  is  that  of  the  wolf  for  the  lamb.  You 
cannot,  under  any  provocation,  be  more  my  enemy 
than  you  are  to-day." 

"  Be  it  so,  if  you  will.  Only  take  heed  that,  in  pro 
voking  me  to  strike,  you  are  not  altogether  at  mercy  of 
the  blow." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  189 

"  I  will  take  heed,"  said  Edwin,  and,  opening  the 
door,  he  passed  out,  painfully  aware  that  in  this  second 
interview  with  the  lawyer,  he  had  gained  nothing,  and 
probably  lost  all  his  first  seeming  advantage. 

"You  must  not  call  on  him  again  —  at  least  not  for 

O 

some  weeks,"  said  Glastonbury,  to  whose  office  Guy 
went  immediately  after  his  conference  with  Larobe. 

"  Not  for  weeks !  "  Even  the  interval  of  weeks,  be 
fore  getting  to  where  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  the 
money  which  had  seemed  so  near  his  grasp,  appeared 
a  long  time  to  the  eager  young  man. 

"  As  before  said,"  answered  Glastonbury,  "  this  is 
a  business  in  which  we  will  have  to  make  haste  slowly. 
Every  inch  of  the  ground  we  take  must  be  well  con 
sidered,  lest  it  prove  unsafe.  There  is  not  a  man  in  the 
city,  against  whom  an  affair  of  this  kind  might  not  be 
more  safely  conducted.  It  is  evident,  that  he  has  re 
covered  from  his  first  surprise,  and  now  stands  on 
guard." 

For  over  two  weeks,  no  sign  of  invitation  or  ap 
proach  on  either  side  was  apparent.  Twice  Larobe 
and  Edwin  had  met  in  the  street,  passing  with  a  cold 
nod  of  recognition.  Both  were  but  acting,  however ; 
and  both  on  the  alert.  Towards  the  end  of  the  third 
week,  a  note  came  from  Larobe,  asking  for  an  inter 
view  in  the  evening  at  his  rooms  in  the  City  Hotel. 
At  this  meeting,  the  lawyer  gained  what  he  desired  — 


140  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

information  as  to  the  progress  Edwin  was  making  to 
wards  the  initiation  of  the  threatened  suit.  Nothing  had 
really  been  done,  and  he  was,  thus  far,  satisfied  ;  he 
was,  also,  becoming  assured  that  nothing  would  be  done, 
so  long  as  there  was  any  hope  of  driving  him,  through 
fear,  to  the  payment  of  the  sum  Edwin  had  demanded. 
This  payment  he  had,  from  the  first,  resolved  to  make, 
rather  than  risk  the  consequences  of  a  legal  search  into 
all  the  circumstances  of  Adam  Guy's  illness,  and  re 
moval  to  an  insane  asylum.  But  he  was  not  the  man 
to  yield  anything  without  a  struggle.  Moreover,  in 
the  very  fact  of  this  yielding,  was  an  admission  that 
wrong  had  been  done  ;  an  admission  that  placed  him  in 
the  power  of  Edwin,  and  he  was  too  unprincipled  and 
unscrupulous  himself  to  have  any  faith  in  another's 
pledges  or  promises.  How  was  he  to  be  in  safety,  after 
buying  off  with  money  this  dangerous  foe.  What 
guarantee  could  he  have  that  the  contract  would  re 
main  unbroken  ?  Is  the  tiger  rendered  docile  by  a 
draught  of  blood  ? 

Two  or  three  more  weeks  were  suffered  to  go  by,  in 
a  mutual  wariness.  Then  Larobe  received  a  commu 
nication  from  Mr.  Glastonbury,  Edwin's  lawyer,  in 
which  he  was  notified,  in  formal  manner,  that  he  had 
been  instructed  to  bring  suit  for  the  purpose  of  break 
ing  the  will  of  Adam  Guy.  This  brought  the  two 
lawyers  into  communication,  and  they  spent  several 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  141 

weeks  of  skilful  manoeuvering,  each  trying  to  get  such 
a  position  as  would  be  impregnable  in  defence,  or  pos 
sess  superior  advantage  in  assault.  So  much  was  in 
volved  on  both  sides,  that  great  circumspection  was 
demanded.  Enough,  however,  was  gained  by  Glaston- 
bury,  to  assure  him  that  Larobe  would  scarcely  risk 
the  suit.  But  there  were  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  com 
promise,  almost  insuperable.  What  were  the  guaran 
tees  for  future  immunity  ?  What  surety  could  be  giv 
en,  that  similar  attacks  would  not  come  from  other 
members  of  Mr.  Guy's  family,  even  if  Edwin  were, 
ever  after,  to  remain  quiet  ? 

The  one  position  taken  by  Larobe,  in  his  interviews 
with  Glastonbury,  was,  that  the  movement  against  him 
on  the  part  of  Edwin  Guy,  was  simply  for  the  purpose 
of  extorting  money  ;  and  that  his  only  cause  of  hesita 
tion  in  the  matter  grew  out  of  an  unwillingness  to  be 
dragged  into  court  on  such  gross  charges  as  were  as 
sumed,  and  put  on  the  defensive  against  bribed  witness 
es  whose  false  statements  might  not  only  have  weight 
with  a  public  too  apt  to  believe  the  worst,  but  with  a 
prejudiced  or  stupid  jury  also. 

"  But,  in  avoiding  one  danger,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not 
disposed  to  risk  another  and  greater." 

"  It  is  for  you  to  make  the  election,"  replied  Glas 
tonbury.  "  My  client  has  become  impatient  of  delay, 
and  insists  that  proceedings  at  once  begin." 


142  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  He  may  find  himself  checkmated  in  the  third  or 
fourth  move,"  said  Larobe.  "  I  have  not  been  pas 
sive  for  nearly  three  months." 

"  It  is  for  you  to  conduct  your  own  side  of  the  game, 
and  I  doubt  not  it  will  be  skilfully  played,"  answered 
Glastonbury,  his  lip  twitching,  and  lifting  back  over 
the  canine  teeth,  in  a  way  peculiar  to  himself. 

"  I  have  secured  evidence  already,  and  shall  meet 
you  with  a  counter  suit." 

"Ah?" 

"  Yes.  Your  client  has  been  several  times  in  my 
rooms,  blustering  and  threatening.  All  that  he  said 
might  not  favor  your  side  materially,  if  produced  in 
court.  Nevertheless,  I  have  it,  word  for  word,  written 
out,  and  by  a  witness  who  will  take  the  stand.  I  did 
not  choose  to  be  alone,  you  see." 

Larobe's  small  brown  eyes  looked  forth  keenly  from 
their  deep  coverts,  and  scanned  the  face  of  Glastonbury. 
There  was  no  change  in  its  expression  ;  but  the  upper 
lip  twitched  oftener,  with  its  nervous  motion,  showing 
the  fangs,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other. 

"  And  prove  what  ?  " 

"  An  attempt  to  extort  money,"  replied  Larobe. 
"  An  open  demand  for  a  certain  sum,  as  black  mail ;  so 
giving  me  immunity  against  prosecution  for  an  alleged 
crime.  There  are  two  points  here,  as  you  will  per 
ceive  ;  two  criminal  offences  punishable  under  the  law. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWAKDS.  143 

An  attempt  to  extort  money  by  threat,  and  the  com 
pounding  of  felony." 

Glastonbury  simply  answered,  and  without  apparent 
change  of  feeling,  though  he  saw  that  Larobe  had 
gained  an  advantage  over  his  client. 

"  Guy  has  little  to  lose,  and  all  to  gain  in  this  mat 
ter  ;  you  have  nothing  to  gain  and  much  to  lose.  Let 
the  case  go  as  it  will,  should  it  come  into  court,  you 
cannot  escape  without  serious  damage.  We  are  pre 
pared  with  evidence  that  will  show  darkly  against  you, 
Mr.  Larobe.  It  is  possible  that  you  may  have  testimo 
ny  running  parallel,  which  will  complement  ours,  and 
give  a  different  signification  to  many  things  veiled  in 
mystery.  I  trust,  for  your  sake,  that  it  may  be  so. 
But,  I  would  not  advise  you  to  accept  all  the  risks. 
Settle  it  with  the  young  man,  if  it  be  within  range  of 
possibility.  He  is,  at  the  present  time,  believe  me,  in 
possession  of  facts  touching  some  things  in  your  past 
life,  that  make  him  a  dangerous  enemy." 

Whatever  impression  this  had  on  Justin  Larobe,  he 
was  skilful  enough  at  concealment  to  hide  from  even  as 
keen  an  observer  as  Glastonbury,  and  the  two  men 
closed  the  interview  and  separated,  neither  satisfied  in 
regard  to  the  other. 

"  You  have  well  nigh  ruined  your  case  !  "  was  the 
salutation  received  by  Edwin  Guy,  when  next  he  ap 
peared  in  Glastonbury's  office.  The  lawyer's  upper 


144  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

lip  moved  nervously,  and  his  eyes  looked  sternly  at  his 
client. 

44  Ruined  my  case  !     How  ?  "     Edwin's  face  paled. 

"  I  warned  you,  over  and  over  again,  to  be  prudent 
in  what  you  said  to  Larobe." 

44  And  I  have  always  been  prudent,"  replied  the 
young  man. 

44  As  prudent  as  though  a  third  party,  your  enemy, 
were  present  ?  " 

44  Not  so  guarded  as  that.    Why  should  I  have  been  ?" 

44  A  third  party  was  present." 

44  What  ?  " 

44  A  third  party,  concealed,  and  noting  down,  for  ev 
idence,  every  word  to  which  you  gave  utterance." 

44  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

44 1  have  it  from  Larobe  himself;  and  he  is  now  pre 
paring  to  set  off  our  suit  with  one  for  the  two  crimes  of 
attempting  to  extort  money  by  threat,  and  for  compound 
ing  a  felony." 

Edwin's  face  grew  paler  still. 

44  Then  he  will  abide  our  movement  against  him  ?  " 
he  said. 

44 1  am  not  sure ;  but  it  looks  that  way.  I  told  you, 
in  the  beginning,  that  we  had  an  antagonist  to  deal  with 
of  the  most  wary  and  determined  character,  and  one 
who  would  seek  an  advantage  against  you,  and  press  it 
to  tho  death  when  gained.  If,  as  he  alleges,  he  is  in  pos- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  145 

session  of  evidence  going  to  show  that  you  threatened 
him  with  this  suit,  unless  he  paid  you  a  certain  sum  of 
money,  your  chances  of  gaining  it  are  not  good  ;  and 
you  may  be  so  thrown  at  disadvantage  as  to  be  visited 
by  serious  legal  consequences.  I'm  afraid  you  are  far 
ther  away  from  your  object  to-day,  than  you  were  two 
months  ago." 

There  was  a  silence  between  the  two  men  for  three 
or  four  minutes.     Then  Glastonbury  said  — 

"  Other  heirs  are  living  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  My  sister  Frances  may  be  in  the  city.    I  am  not  cer 
tain,  however." 

"  No  matter.     We  can  use  her  name ;  and  that,  I 
think,  will  be  our  tower  of  strength." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Edwin,  looking  per 
plexed. 

"  Larobe  does  not,  I  think,  really  mean  to  risk  a  suit ; 
but,  with  his  present  advantage,  he  will  hold  us  off  in 
definitely.  We  do  not  want  a  suit.  For,  if  prosecuted 
to  the  end,  and  successful,  years  must  elapse  before  any 
thing  can  be  realized,  and  then  so  many  other  claimants 
to  the  estate  may  come  in,  that  our  share  will  hardly  be 
worth  fighting  for.  If,  however,  Larobe  is  satisfied  that 
we  mean  to  bring  the  suit  in  your  sister's  name,  against 
7 


146  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

whom  he  can  threaten  nothing,  my  opinion  is,  that  he 
will  yield." 

Edwin  did  not  see  much  to  hope  for  in  this  view  of 
the  case.  Delays  had  already  wearied  him.  He  saw, 
in  Larobe,  an  antagonist  so  skilful,  so  guarded,  so  wary, 
that  victory  seemed  more  and  more  doubtful  every  day. 
Nearly  three  months  had  elapsed,  and  he  saw  himself 
farther  off  from  the  end  he  sought  to  achieve  than  in 
the  beginning.  It  was  while  in  this  state  of  mind  that 
he  determined,  without  consulting  his  lawyer,  to  have 
an  interview  with  his  step-mother,  Mrs.  Larobe,  now 
living  separate  from  her  husband,  and  try  what  was  to 
be  done  with  her.  His  success,  in  that  interview,  is 
known  to  the  reader. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EN  minutes  after  one  o'clock,  on  the 
day  after  his  interview  with  his  step 
mother,  Edwin  Guy  ascended  the  steps 
leading  to  the  Union  Bank,  holding  a 
check  of  four  thousand  dollars  clench 
ed  tightly  in  his  hand.  He  had  many 
doubts  and  misgivings  in  his  heart, 
and  glanced  about  him  uneasily.  In 
stead  of  meeting  a  prompt  payment  of  his  check,  might 
he  not  encounter  an  officer  ?  That  was  in  the  range 
of  possibilities.  More  probable  than  this,  he  thought, 
might  be  the  answer  — 
"  No  funds." 

As  he  entered,  a  lady  swept  past  him,  moving  with 
quick  steps.  She  was  in  the  act  of  drawing  down  her 
veil ;  but  he  saw  a  portion  of  her  face.  It  was  Mrs. 
Larobe.  If  she  saw  him,  she  had  no  desire  to  make 
recognition  of  a  detested  persecutor  —  of  one  who  had 
forced  on  her  the  bitterest  necessity  of  her  life ;  and  that 


148  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

life,  in  these  later  years,  had  not  been  free  from  bitter 
necessities. 

Had  she  made  the  required  deposit  ?  That  was  still 
the  doubtful  query.  Edwin  was  in  no  state  to  linger, 
but  moved  on  with  a  desperate  hope  that  all  was  right, 
and,  standing  at  the  counter,  presented  his  check.  The 
teller  glanced  down  at  his  face,  let  his  eyes  dwell  upon 
it  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked  across  the  counter  at 
Edwin,  regarding  him  with  apparent  scrutiny.  Then 
turning  to  a  book-keeper,  he  asked  a  question,  and  the 
book-keeper  referred  to  an  account  on  his  ledger. 

The  teller  came  back,  and  handing  the  check  to  Ed 
win,  said, 

"  No  funds." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  "  The  young  man  lingered. 
"  The  drawer  of  this  check  said  that  funds  to  meet  it 
would  be  on  deposit  by  one  o'clock,  and  it  is  past  that 
time  now." 

The  teller  again  reached  his  hand  for  the  check  and 
stepped  to  the  counter  where  the  receiving  teller  stood, 
asked  a  question,  and  received,  as  Edwin  saw,  an  affirma 
tive  reply. 

"  How  will  you  have  it  ?  "  The  teller's  hands  were 
over  his  money  drawer. 

"  In  hundred  dollar  bills,"  was  answered. 

Forty  bills  were  counted  out.     Clutching  them  with 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  149 

ill-suppressed  eagerness,  Edwin  Guy  left  the  bank  and 
hurried  into  the  street. 

As  Mrs.  Guy  left  the  bank,  only  a  few  minutes  be 
fore,  she  removed  the  veil  which  had  been  drawn  quick 
ly,  on  seeing  Edwin,  in  order  to  get  full  draughts  of  the 
fresh  air,  for  she  felt  like  one  about  to  suffocate.  Slow 
ly  she  moved  up  Charles  street,  on  her  way  homeward, 
weak  in  every  limb,  the  effect  of  nervous  exhaustion. 
As  she  came  near  St.  Paul's  Church,  she  saw,  on  the 
corner,  an  old  man  of  such  singular  appearance,  that  he 
was  attracting  the  attention  of  passengers  on  the  street, 
some  of  whom  stood  still  to  observe  him  more  narrow 
ly.  His  dress  was  meagre,  worn  and  incongruous  ;  his 
hair,  of  iron  gray,  was  long  and  uncombed,  his  face  cov 
ered  with  a  white  beard,  that  fell  down  from  his  chin  to 
a  distance  of  six  or  seven  inches.  He  stooped  consider 
ably  ;  and  his  garments  hung  loosely  around  an  emacia 
ted  body.  The  upper  part  of  his  face,  which  could  alone 
be  seen,  had  a  pale  and  sickly  hue  ;  but  his  deep  set  eyes, 
looking  out  of  almost  bony  orbits,  had  a  glitter  and  fire 
in  them  too  bright  for  reason. 

Mrs.  Larobe  had  advanced  along  the  pavement  to 
within  a  few  paces  of  this  old  man,  whose  appearance 
was  that  of  an  escaped  pauper  or  lunatic,  before  he  ob 
served  her  approach.  The  sound  of  her  footsteps,  or 
the  rustle  of  her  garments,  reaching  his  ears,  he  turned 
and  looked  into  her  face.  As  their  eyes  met,  the  old 


150  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 


man  gave  a  start,  moving  back,  a  pace  or  two,  and  mut 
tering  some  incoherent  ejaculation.  Then  advancing, 
he  leaned  forward,  with  his  wild  and  fiery  eyes  fixed 
eagerly  on  Mrs.  Larobe's  face.  Frightened  at  this  un 
expected  encounter  with  what  was  evidently  an  insane 
man,  Mrs.  Larobe  drew  down  her  veil,  and  sweeping  in 
a  wide  circle  around  him,  hurried  onward,  without  glanc 
ing  back,  lest  her  doing  so  should  lead  him  to  follow  her. 

He  was  following,  nevertheless  ;  but  at  so  slow  a 
pace,  that  when  Mrs.  Larobe  reached  Franklin  street, 
and  looked  back  for  the  first  time,  he  was  not  visible. 
Still  excited,  and  inwardly  trembling  with  a  vague  alarm, 
she  kept  on,  without  checking  her  speed,  until  she  ar 
rived  at  home. 

Not  for  along  time  had  Mrs.  Larobe  felt  so  complete 
ly  unnerved  as  now.  The  conviction  which,  fora  year 
or  two,  had  been  haunting  her  mind,  that  the  foundations 
of  her  peace  were  wholly  insecure,  and  that  it  was  too 
late  in  life  to  commence  building  again,  if  the  present 
house  fell,  was  now  gaining  confirmation.  Edwin's  visit 
and  imperious  demand,  which  she  dared  not  refuse, 
though  compliance  did  not  remove  all  fear  of  the  terrible 
consequences  threatened,  was  an  event  of  such  a  disturb 
ing  and  depressing  nature,  that  she  could  not  rise  above 
its  influence.  The  night  that  followed  this  visit  had 
been  almost  sleepless.  A  dozen  times  she  repented  of 
compliance:  yet,  as  often,  in  going  back  over  her  past 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  151 

life,  and  dwelling  on  certain  events,  a  knowledge  of  which 
Edwin  claimed  to  possess,  she  felt  a  sickening  sense  of 
the  imperious  necessity  that  was  upon  her,  and  saw  that 
no  other  way  of  escape  remained.  She  had  found  no 
difficulty  in  selling  her  stocks,  though,  in  the  negotiation 
with  a  broker,  she  was  compelled  to  make  a  loss  of  three 
per  cent.,  besides  commissions.  Five  thousand  dollars 
were  paid  down,  and  she  was  to  receive  the  balance  next 
day,  in  order  to  make  good  the  second  check  of  four 
thousand  dollars  held  by  Edwin.  Parting  with  these 
large  sums,  was  like  wringing  drops  of  blood  from  her 
heart ;  not  that  she  had  a  miser's  love  for  money  —  she 
valued  it  for  the  position  and  power  it  gave  her.  The 
hardest  thing  to  bear  in  this  hard  necessity,  was  the 
triumph  gained  over  her  by  Edwin,  whom  she  had  hated 
with  that  implacable  hatred,  the  wronger  cherishes  for 
the  wronged.  Suddenly  the  tables  were  turned,  and 
she  found  herself  at  his  mercy.  This  was  too  hard  for 
endurance.  It  seemed,  at  times,  as  if  it  would  drive 
her  mad. 

How  could  she  get  him  out  of  her  way  ?  For  hours, 
in  the  darkness,  she  pondered  this  dark  question,  the 
will  to  compass  murder  full-formed  in  her  heart.  There 
were  no  doubts,  nor  hesitations,  nor  weak  tremors  at 
thought  of  steel  or  poison  ;  only  at  thoughts  of  safety  to 
herself.  If  the  power  of  invisibility  could  have  been  the 
gift  of  a  demon,  she  would  have  accepted  the  boon,  and, 


152  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

with  her  own  hidden  hand,  sent  death  to  the  heart  of 
her  step-son.  But,  certain  immunity  was  impossible. 
She  could  not  venture  into  this  path  of  crime,  without 
the  encounter  of  risks  too  great  to  be  accepted.  And 
so,  the  question  of  how  he  was  to  be  removed  from  her 
obstructed  path,  was  pondered  in  vain. 

The  visit  and  extortion  of  Edwin,  made  in  the  face  of 
terrifying  threats,  the  wild  thoughts  and  heart-struggles 
of  the  night,  and  the  constrained  work  of  the  morning, 
left  Mrs.  Larobe  in  that  sensitive,  nervous  condition 
which  is  liable  to  disturbance  from  the  most  trifling 
causes.  When  she  left  the  bank,  after  handing  in  the 
deposit  which  was  to  make  good  the  extorted  check, 
she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  in  a  state  of  nervous  exhaus 
tion.  Except  for  this,  her  encounter  with  the  strange 
looking  old  man,  would  have  been  an  incident  to  be  for 
gotten  in  a  moment.  But,  trifling  as  the  incident  was, 
it  added  largely  to  the  disturbing  forces  by  which  she 
was  now  assailed. 

As  the  street  door  of  her  own  house  closed  behind 
her,  Mrs.  Larobe  moved  slowly  and  with  weak  steps 
along  the  hall,  entering  one  of  the  parlors,  and  sinking 
in  tremor  and  exhaustion  upon  a  sofa.  Over  ten  minutes 
elapsed,  before  rising  to  go  up  stairs.  A  few  moments 
she  stood  in  front  of  a  large  pier  glass,  stretching  from 
floor  to  ceiling,  scarcely  recognizing  her  own  pale, 
troubled  face.  How  had  less  than  twenty-four  hours 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  153 

of  baffling  contest  with  superior  forces,  marred  the 
smooth  repose  of  her  countenance.  Turning  from  the 
mirror,  she  stood,  for  an  instant,  among  the  curtains 
that  drapped  the  long  low  windows ;  but,  only  for  an 
instant.  Back,  as  if  a  strong  arm  had  drawn  her  away, 
she  moved  suddenly,  catching  her  breath,  and  clasping 
her  hands  over  her  bosom.  The  strange  old  man  had 
glanced  up  to  her  from  the  pavement,  starting,  as  before, 
at  her  sudden  apparition,  and  then  bending  towards  her 
with  a  wild,  eager  look. 

Mrs.  Larobe  shuddered,  and  sat  down,  again ;  sat 
down  and  listened  breathlessly.  Every  moment  she  ex 
pected  to  hear  the  bell  ring.  But,  five  minutes  passed, 
and  no  hand  pulled  at  the  wire.  Then  she  breathed 
more  freely.  A  stealthy  reconnoissance  from  behind 
the  window  curtains,  satisfied  her  that  the  insane  man, 
for  so  she  regarded  him,  was  no  longer  in  front  of  her 
house.  This  added  excitement  finished  the  work  of 
exhaustion.  When  Mrs.  Larobe  reached  her  chamber, 
she  had  only  enough  strength  left  to  remove  her  dress, 
and  loosen  her  under-garments.  For  more  than  three 
hours  she  lay  in  such  apparent  stupefaction,  that  both 
her  children  and  servants  became  alarmed,  and  made 
efforts  to  arouse  her.  She  .gave  no  heed  to  them,  be 
yond  expressing  a  desire  to  be  left  alone,  until  an  under- 
toned  conversation  about  sending  for  a  physician,  aroused 

her  to  the  necessity  of  regaining  a  portion  of  her  lost 

7* 


i54  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

mental  and  bodily  equilibrium.  So  she  spoke  in  firmer 
tones,  saying  that  she  was  better,  and  would  be  down 
at  tea  time. 

In  this  she  kept  her  word.  At  the  tea  table  she  ap 
peared  with  little  change  from  her  ordinary  manner,  but 
was  paler  than  usual,  eat  scarcely  anything,  and  spoke 
but  few  sentences  during  the  meal.  After  tea,  she  re 
tired  to  her  own  chamber,  into  which  only  Blanche  in 
truded.  Mrs.  Larobe  sent  her  away,  but  she  soon 
came  back  and  insisted  on  remaining.  Her  presence, 
considering  Mrs.  Larobe's  state  of  mind,  was  not  now 
to  be  endured ;  so  she  was  thrust  violently  from  the 
room,  and  left  to  scream  and  beat  the  door  in  passion, 
until  she  grew  tired. 

About  eight  o'clock,  a  servant  tapped  for  entrance, 
and  was  directed  to  come  in. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  in  the  parlor,"  she  said. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  Mrs.  Larobe  knit  her  brows  and 
looked  annoyed. 

"  He  didn't  give  me  his  name,  ma'am,"  replied  the 
servant. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  him  ?  " 

*'  I  did,  ma'am,  but  he  said  it  was  no  difference." 

"  Was  it  the  gentleman  who  was  here  last  evening  ?  " 

"  O  no,  ma'am.     It  isn't  him." 

"  Very  well.     Say  I'll  be  down." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  155 

The -servant  withdrew.  Mrs.  Larobe  felt  herself 
yielding  to  returning  nervous  tremors. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  she  asked  herself.  "I  wish 
visitors  would  send  up  their  names."  She  was  about 
recalling  the  servant,  and  insisting  on  the  person's  name, 
when  she  altered  her  mind,  and  making  a  few  changes 
of  dress,  went  down  to  the  parlors.  She  had  been  there 
for  scarcely  a  minute,  when  a  loud  cry  was  heard ,  fol 
lowed  by  a  jarring  sound,  as-  if  a  heavy  weight  had 
fallen.  Children  and  servants  ran  down  stairs  in  alarm, 
and  on  entering  the  parlor,  found  Mrs.  Larobe  on  the 
floor,  inensible,  and  alone.  The  visitor  had  made  good 
his  escape. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

T  was  nine  o'clock  on  the  same  evening. 
Mr.  Larobe  was  in  his  rooms  at  the  City 
Hotel.  Two  or  three  gentlemen  had 
been  with  him,  during  the  past  hour,  in 
consultation  on  important  business  mat 
ters,  and  had  just  retired.  He  was  alone, 
and  moving  about  the  apartment  with 
that  occupied  manner  incident  to  busy 
thought,  when  one  of  the  waiters  .  handed  in  a  sealed 
note.  A  glance  at  the  superscription,  wrought  an  in 
stant  change  in  his  countenance.  There  was  an  ex 
pression  of  surprise,  followed  by  a  half  angry  knitting 
of  the  brow.  Sitting  down  at  the  table,  over  which 
a  gas  light  was  burning,  he  unfolded  the  note  with  a  per 
ceptible  nervousness  of  manner,  and  read  — 

"  I  must  see  you   to-night.     We  are  in  the  most 
imminent  danger.     All  is  at  stake.     Come  instantly. 

«JANE" 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  157 

The  hand  by  which  these  alarming  sentences  were 
penned  had  trembled  with  every  stroke ;  not  more, 
however,  than  the  hand  now  holding  the  small  piece  of 
paper  on  which  they  were  written.  The  lines  were 
more  deeply  cut  on  Mr.  Larobe's  already  knitted  brow. 
He  knew  the  writer  too  well,  to  disregard  her  injunction. 
If  she  said  there  was  imminent  danger  —  that  all  was 
at  stake  —  it  was  so  ! 

"  Come  instantly  !  "  Mr.  Larobe  read  the  closing 
sentence  again,  crumpled  the  note  in  his  hand,  and 
threw  it  into  the  fire.  As  it  blazed  up,  he  arose  quickly, 
and  taking  his  hat  and  overcoat,  started  for  the  resi 
dence  of  his  wife.  A  rapid  walk  of  less  than  fifteen 
minutes  brought  him  to  the  vicinity  of  Washington's 
Monument,  where  Mrs.  Larobe  resided.  The  servant 
who  admitted  him,  opened  one  of  the  parlor  doors ; 
passing  in,  he  found  himself  alone  with  his  wife.  She 
was  sitting  in  a  large  chair,  but  did  not  rise  nor  speak. 
Her  face  looked  shrunken  and  older  by  years  than  when, 
only  a  few  weeks  since,  he  had  seen  her  go  past  him  in 
her  carriage.  All  the  calm,  resolute  firmness  of  her 
mouth  was  gone.  It  was  almost  pitiable  to  see  how 
feebly  her  lips  were  dropped  apart ;  how  utter  exhaus 
tion  was  expressed  in  all  the  lines  of  her  countenance. 

Mr.  Larobe  took  a  chair,  and  drawing  it  up  close,  sat 
down.  If  his  heart  had  trembled  on  reading  her  note, 
it  shivered  now. 


in  this  hour  of  penJ 
growing  clear." 

In  ten  minutes,  as  Mr.  Larobe  had  said,  he  came 
back  with  a  policeman,  and  left  him  in  thehouse,  promis- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  159 

ing  his  wife,  on  retiring,  that  he  would  see  her  early  on 
the  next  day.  Mr.  Larohe  was  not  in  his  room  in  the 
hotel  that  night ;  nor  was  he  to  be  found  in  his  office, 
or  in  any  of  the  court  rooms  on  the  following  day. 

At  one  o'clock  Edwin  Guy  was  at  the  counter  of  the 
Union  Bank. 

The  teller  handed  back  his  check,  with  a  firm  shake  of 
the  head. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  asked  the  young  man,  in  a 
tone  of  feigned  surprise. 

"  No  funds,"  said  the  teller. 

At  half-past  one,  Edwin  called  again. 

"  No  funds,"  was  repeated. 

At  two  he  was  there,  and  got  the  same  reply. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  " 

"  Certain,"  answered  the  teller,  coldly. 

Half-past  two  saw  Edwin  at  the  counter  again  with 
his  check.  The  teller  recognized  him  and  shook  his 
head.  At  ten  minutes  of  three  he  was  there  once  more. 
Now,  as  he  offered  the  check,  it  was  taken  by  the  teller, 
who  stepped  back  from  the  counter,  and  spoke  with  the 
cashier,  who  was  standing  at  a  desk.  The  cashier  came 
forward,  with  his  eyes  fixed  keenly  on  Edwin. 

"  Is  your  name  Edwin  Guy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir."  The  young  man's  eyes  fell 
under  the  cashier's  gaze. 


160  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  We  are  instructed  to  retain  this  check,"  said  the 
bank  officer. 

u  By  whose  authority? ."  demanded  Edwin. 

"  By  authority  of  the  drawer." 

"  It  is  my  property,  sir,  you  have  no  right  to  retain 
it.  If  you  will  not  pay  the  check,  hand  it  back,"  said 
Edwin,  partially  recovering  himself. 

"  Our  orders  are  imperative,  and  we  take  the  respon 
sibility,"  said  the  cashier,  coolly,  at  the  same  time  hand 
ing  Edwin  a  letter,  bearing  his  name  on  the  envelop. 
He  knew  the  writing  to  be  that  of  Justin  Larobe,  and 
so,  without  further  remonstrance,  left  the  bank  in  order 
to  get  at  the  contents  of  this  letter,  and  thence  at  some 
fair  estimate  touching  the  new  difficulties,  if  not  dangers, 
that  were  in  the  way  before  him.  They  were  in  few 
words. 

"  EDWIN  GUY,  SIR. —  I  have  seen  your  step-mother, 
and  the  payment  of  her  check  is  stopped.  It  will  be 
safest  for  you  to  see  me  to-night.  If  you  don't  call  at 
my  rooms,  I  will  order  your  arrest  to-morrow. 

JUSTIN  LAROBE." 

Edwin  did  not  go  to  his  lawyer,  for  he  had  acted  in 
this  matter  without  consultation.  During  the  remain 
der  of  the  day,  he  considered  the  question  of  calling  upon 
Larobe,  regarding  it  on  all  sides.  The  decision  was  in 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  1G1 

favor  of  calling.  He  understood  very  well  the  business 
on  which  he  was  so  peremptorily  summoned.  Larobe 
would  demand  a  return  of  the  four  thousand  dollars, 
and  also  of  the  notes  for  twelve  thousand  which  he  had 
extorted  from  his  step-mother.  Touching  this  demand, 
he  was  in  no  vacillating  condition  of  mind.  "  A  bird 
in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush."  This  adage  ex- 

O 

pressed  his  state  precisely.  He  meant  to  hold  on  to 
what  he  had,  and  defy  Mr.  Larobe. 

At  as  early  an  hour  as  eight  o'clock,  he  was  at  the 
City  Hotel.  He  found  Mr.  Larobe  alone,  and  was  re 
ceived  with  almost  angry  sternness. 

"  Well,  sir !  for  what  am  I  wanted  ?  "  demanded  Ed 
win,  in  a  tone  of  defiance. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Edwin  sat  down. 

"  It  seems,"  remarked  Larobe,  suppressing  his  feel 
ings,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  rather  threatening  voice, 
"  that  you  will  not  be  at  peace  until  you  find  yourself 
in  the  state's  prison." 

"  I  shall  at  least  have  good  company,"  was  answered, 
with  a  cold,  sneering  manner  •  "  which  will  be  some 
consolation." 

It  was  plain  that  Larobe  had  not  anticipated  just  such 
a  response  ;  for  he  turned  his  head  with  a  slightly  baf 
fled  air. 

uYou  must   restore  the  money   paid   you  on  Mrs. 


162  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Larobe's  check,  and  also  the  notes  you  extorted  from 
her  under  threat,"  said  the  lawyer,  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  Never  !  "  was  the  resolute  answer. 

Larobe  turned  to  the  table  by  which  he  was  sitting, 
and  taking  up  a  slip  of  paper,  handed  it  to  Edwin.  It 
read  thus  :  — 

"  CAUTION.  —  All  persons  are  cautioned  against  re 
ceiving  three  promissory  notes,  each  for  four  thousand 
dollars,  at  three,  six,  and  nine  months,  respectively,  and 
bearing  date  March  27th,  18  — ,  drawn  by  Jane  Larobe 
in  favor  of  Edwin  Guy.  Said  notes  having  been  extort 
ed,  under  threat,  by  said  Guy,  and  without  equivalent, 
will  not  be  paid  at  maturity." 

After  reading  this  advertisement,  Edwin  coolly  hand 
ed  it  back,  with  the  monosyllable  — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  restore  the  money  and  notes  to-night, 
that  advertisement  will  appear  in  to-morrow  morning's 
papers." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  notes  will  be  rendered  value 
less.  In  the  second  place,  you  will  find  yourself  under 
arrest." 

"  And  in  the  third  place,"  added  Edwin,  speaking  as 
coldly  and  as  resolutely,  "  you  will  find  yourself  under 
arrest,  also,  charged  with  the  crime  of  murder  !  Were 
you  fool  enough,"  he  added,  flushing  with  excitement, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  163 

"  to  imagine  that  I  was  to  be  frightened  by  a  puny  threat 
like  this,  when  I  had  my  hand  on  your  throat,  and  could 
strangle  you  at  a  moment's  warning.  Beware,  sir,  how 
you  cross  my  path  !  Publish  your  advertisement  in  the 
morning  papers.  Good  !  Ere  twelve  o'clock,  you  will 
find  yourself  over  the  Falls.  And  hark'ee,  my  friend  ! 
Don't  for  an  instant  flatter  yourself  with  the  notion  that 
I  am  hare  and  you  hound.  The  hunt,  I  fancy,  will  be 
in  the  reverse  direction.  So,  get  out  of  my  course,  or 
you  will  find,  when  too  late  for  succor,  my  fangs  in  your 
side.  To-morrow  morning,  I  shall  expect  to  receive,  by 
ten  o'clock,  at  my  office  in  the  Custom  House,  the  check 
withheld  at  your  instance  to-day  ;  and  by  twelve  o'clock, 
the  money  to  make  it  good  must  be  in  the  bank.  In 
default  of  this,  I  swear  by  all  that  is  sacred,  to  drag  you 
and  your  guilty  wife,  stripped  of  your  infamous  dis 
guises,  into  open  day.  Maybe  you  have  a  concealed  lis 
tener  —  a  witness,  writing  me  down,  word  for  word  ! 
Ah,  ha !  I  trust  he  will  omit  nothing." 

All  this  was  so  far  from  what  Larobe  had  anticipated, 
that  he  sat  like  one  confounded,  not  knowing  what  an 
swer  to  make.  Seeing  his  advantage,  Edwin  Guy  re 
ceded  towards  the  door,  and  with  his  hand  on  the  knob, 
added  these  brief  sentences  — 

"  Make  your  own  election. ,  I  am  prepared  for  you 
at  all  points.  Thwart  me  a  step  farther,  and  your  ruin 
be  on  your  own  head!  " 


164  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

And  not  giving  time  for  Larobe  to  recover  himself,  or 
reply,  he  swung  open  the  door,  and  passing  out,  left  the 
astonished  and  discomfited  lawyer  to  his  own  troubled 
and  deeply  anxious  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


DWIN  GUY  was  not,  usually,  an  early 
riser,  but  the  next  morning  he  was 
abroad  a  little  after  daylight.  The  ob 
ject  was  soon  apparent.  Taking  a  po 
sition  at  the  corner  of  one  of  the  streets 
crossing  Baltimore  street,  he  waited  for 
a  short  time,  when  the  carrier  of  a 
newspaper  came  by,  from  whom  he 
bought  a  copy  of  the  "  American,"  which  he  thrust  in 
to  his  pocket. 

"  Am  I  too-  late  for  the  4  Chronicle  ?  '  "  he  asked  of 
the  carrier. 

"  Too  late,  sir."  And  the  carrier  hurried  on  his 
way. 

"  No  matter  for  that,  a  "  Chronicle"  must  be  had,  and 
it  was  obtained  from  a  door  knob  at  the  expense  of  a 
subscriber.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  getting  the 
"  Sun."  Returning  to  his  home,  Guy  commenced  an 
examination  of  the  three  morning  papers,  in  a  hasty, 


166  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

nervous  manner,  confining  himself  to  the  advertising 
columns.  Nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  before 
he  was  fully  satisfied. 

"  As  I  thought,"  he  then  said,  speaking  aloud,  and 
with  the  air  of  one  relieved  from  an  uncomfortable  sus 
pense.  "  A  man  in  his  position  will  think  twice  before 
endangering  the  mine  over  which  he  stands." 

At  ten  o'clock,  Edwin  was  at  his  desk  in  the  Custom 
House  ;  not  employed  in  his  usual  duties,  but  waiting. 
He  waited  in  vain.  The  check  which  had  been  de 
manded  of  Larobe,  was  not  restored.  If  the  lawyer 
hesitated,  and  held  off  from  attack,-  he  was  not  to  be 
driven  from  an  assumed  defensive.  The  check  for  four 
thousand  dollars  being  in  his  possession,  he  did  not  mean 
to  give  it  up. 

Having  acted  in  the  matter  of  extorting  money  from 
Mrs.  Larobe  without  consulting  his  lawyer,  Edwin  Guy 
found  himself  standing  alone  amid  dangers,  difficulties 
and  temptations,  with  no  counsellors  but  cupidity  and 
desperation.  The  one  quickened  into  life  all  his  mental 
resources  adapted  to  the  occasion,  while  the  other  made 
him  bold  and  unscrupulous.  He  had  grown  impatient 
of  legal  strategy  and  delay,  and  abandoning  his  covered 
position,  dashed  in  upon  the  enemy,  gaining  a  single  ad 
vantage  ;  but,  already,  the  enemy,  rallying  in  force,  had 
recovered  a  portion  of  its  losses,  and  was  pressing  down 
upon  him  with  a  vigor  that  threatened  his  safety. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  167 

The  question  which,  for  the  time,  most  perplexed  Ed 
win,  was  in  reference  to  his  legal  adviser,  Glastonbury. 
To  brave,  alone,  the  perils  of  his  new  position,  in  face 
of  an  enemy  so  full  of  resources  as  Larobe,  left  the  issue 
very  doubtful.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  to  inform  Glas 
tonbury  of  what  he  had  done,  would  involve  not  only 'a 
division  of  the  spoils  in  hand,  but  a  return  to  strategy 
and  delay,  which  he  could  no  longer  brook.  He  had 
moved  upon  the  enemy,  and  at  a  dash  discomfited  and 
weakened  him ;  and,  now,  all  his  impulses  were  in  favor 
of  trusting  to  his  own  counsels,  and  his  own  weapons. 
Acting  under  legal  advice,  he  would  be  in  a  straight- 
jacket  ;  but  free,  alert  and  vigorous,  while  his  own  will 
and  thought  gave  sole  direction  to  every  movement. 
From  ten  o'clock,  the  time  he  had  fixed  for  the  return 
of  the  four  thousand  dollar  check,  until  twelve,  Edwin 
Guy  debated  this  question  of  consultation  with  his  law 
yer,  but  without  coming  to  a  final  decision.  The  threat 
he  had  made,  at  parting  with  Larobe,  could  not  be  ex 
ecuted  without  legal  process ;  therefore,  not  without 
Glastonbury.  But,  it  was  only  a  threat,  meant  to  in 
timidate.  That  it  had  been,  in  a  degree,  effective,  was 
seen  in  the  fact  that  no  advertisement  of  the  notes  ex 
torted  from  Mrs.  Larobe  had  appeared.  It  had  not 
been  effective,  however,  in  recovering  the  check  which 
had  been  retained  by  the  bank  officers. 

At  twelve  o'clock,  with  this  perplexing  matter  still 


168  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

unsettled  in  his  mind,  business  connected  with  his  duties 
in  the  Customs,  required  Edwin  Guy's  presence  in  a 
remote  part  of  the  city,  whither  he  repaired.  It  was 
night  before  he  returned,  and  then  the  Custom  House 
was  closed.  If  any  communication  from  Larobe  had 
fbund  its  way  to  his  desk,  he  could  not  know  it  until 
morning.  This  left  him  in  a  state  of  suspense  and  un 
easiness.  Conjecture  was  busy  ;  but,  conjecture  increas 
ed  instead  of  allaying  uneasiness.  Nothing  was  left  but 
to  wait  for  the  next  day,  and  whatever  it  might  bring 
forth.  In  the  morning,  he  again  arose  before  the  sun, 
and  again  made  diligent  search  through  the  morning 
papers  for  the  threatened  advertisement.  But,  Larobe 
had  not  yet  made  good  his  word.  Like  Edwin,  he  re 
garded  a  defensive  attitude,  just  now,  as  safest. 

Days  went  by,  without  further  communication  be 
tween  the  belligerent  parties.  Guy  felt  a  painful  sense 
of  uneasiness,  for,  while  he  remained  idle,  he  understood 
enough  of  Larobe's  character,  to  be  well  satisfied  that 
preparations  fqr  assault  and  meditated  destruction  must 
be  in  progress.  Still,  he  hesitated  on  the  question  of 
consulting  Glastonbury. 

One,  two,  three  weeks  elapsed,  without  the  sign  of  a 
movement  on  either  side.  Guy  had  dwelt  on  the  re 
lation  he  now  held  to  his  step-mother  and  her  husband, 
until  his  mind  was  completely  bewildered.  He  could 
not  see  clearly  in  any  direction.  Whatever  he  proposed 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  169 

to  do,  was  met  by  the  apparition  of  some  suggested  con 
sequence  that  it  seemed  folly  to  brave.  He  had  about 
concluded  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  Glastonbury, 
when  he  received  a  note  from  that  individual,  desiring 
him  to  call.  Guy  repaired  to  his  office,  anticipating  an 
almost  angry  interview  with  his  lawyer.  In  this,  how 
ever,  he  was  disappointed.  Glastonbury  received  him 
with  a  composure  that  amounted  almost  to  indifference, 
and  after  he  was  seated,  said,  with  a  quiet  smile,  and  in 
a  tone  that  betrayed  hardly  a  pulse  of  interest, 

"So,  you  have  undertaken  to  manage  this  case  your 
self." 

The  young  man  colored,  and,  in  some  embarrassment, 
which  he  vainly  tried  to  cover,  replied  — 

"  No ;  I  have  only  ventured  a  movement  or  two,  by 
way  of  experiment.  That  is  all." 

"  Successful  ?  "  Glastonbury  drew  a  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  and  turning  his  head  on  one  side,  slowly  blew  the 
smoke  from  his  lips.  He  looked  the  picture  of  cool  in 
difference. 

"Yes."  Edwin  tried  to  absorb  a  portion  of  the 
man's  coolness. 

"  Ah  ?  To  what  extent  ?  "  There  had  been  a  draft 
on  the  cigar,  and  now  the  blue  smoke  was  again  curling 
lazily  about  his  head. 

"  I  have  four  thousand,  dollars  in  cash,  and  notes  to  the 
8 


170  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

value   of  twelve   thousand,    all    payable   within   nine 
months." 

"  From  Mrs.  Larobe  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  You'll  hardly  get  beyond  the  four  thousand,  my 
young  friend." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because,  in  this  dash  upon  the  enemy,  you  have 
given  up  a  strong  position,  which  cannot  be  regained. 
In  the  open  field  you  are  no  match  for  him.  I'm  sorry 
for  this  imprudence.  It  has  given  Larobe  the  power  of 
effectually  barring  you  against  any  further  interest  in 
your  father's  estate." 

"  I  am  not  able  to  see  that,  Mr.  Glastonbury,"  an 
swered  the  young  man,  growing  serious. 

"  It  is  nevertheless  true.  The  law  does  not  recognize 
as  legitimate  these  forced  transactions,  and  goes  on  the 
assumption  that  right  is  weak  where  might  is  umpire. 
If  it  had  been  settled,  that  legal  redress  was  scarcely 
possible,  and  that  right  must  be  had  through  extortion, 
then  your  desperate  course  would  have  justification  on 
the  ground  of  a  last  resort.  It  was  not  well,  I  think, 
to  throw  away  the  advantage  you  possessed,  in  this 
doubtful  venture.  But,  the  deed  is  done,  and  there  is 
no  help  for  it  now." 

"  Still,  you  do  not  explain  how  I  am  barred  thereoy 
from  legal  action,"  said  Edwin. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  171 

"  You  gave  Mrs.  Larobe  some  kind  of  a  receipt  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Of  what  tenor  ?  " 

"  In  full  of  all  claims  against  my  father's  estate." 

"  Will  not  that  bar  you  against  recovery  ?  " 

"  If  the  notes  and  checks  are  paid,  yes." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head.  "  Your  receipt  is  in  full 
of  all  demands  against  your  father's  estate." 

"  For  a  consideration.  In  default  of  the  consideration 
the  original  claim  becomes  good,"  said  Edwin. 

"  You  were  not  dealing  with  an  executor,  or  legal  rep 
resentative  of  your  father's  estate,  remember,"  answer 
ed  Glastonbury,  "  whose  failure  to  abide  by  the  contract 
restored  your  legal  claim.  The  transaction  was  with 
an  individual,  whose  promises  to  pay  you  accepted  in 
lieu  of  all  interest  in  the  estate.  It  will  be  hard,  I  think, 
in  the  face  of  that  receipt,  and  also  in  the  face  of  your 
extortion  of  terms  under  threat,  to  obtain  from  any 
court  a  favorable  decision.  Very  sure  am  I,  that  no 
lawyer  of  any  standing  at  the  bar  could  be  found  will 
ing  to  undertake  the  case  on  a  contingent  fee." 

"  Which  means,"  said  Edwin,  "  that  you  abandon 
it  ?  " 

"  To  waste  time  and  labor  in  attempting  to  reach  an 
impossible  advantage,  would  be  an  act  of  folly,"  softly 
answered  the  lawyer.  "  A  new  line  of  warfare  having 
been  adopted,  it  becomes  necessary  to  abandon  the  old. 


172  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

We  must  now  see  what  advantage  lies  in  the  assumed 
position,  and  make  the  most  of  it.  You  have  four  thou 
sand  dollars  ?  " 

"Yes."- 

"  And  notes  for  twelve  thousand  more  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  whose  order  are  these  notes  drawn  ?  " 

"To  my  own." 

"  Ah  !     That  was  a  mistake  !  " 

"  They  should  have  been  to  Mrs.  Larobe's  order?  " 

"  Assuredly." 

"  Right.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  have  seen  that.  But 
there's  no  help  for  it,  now." 

"  You  must  realize  on  these  notes  as  quickly  as  possi 
ble,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Sell  them ! 

"  Yes.  Get  then  off  of  your  hands  at  once,  for  any 
sum  they  will  bring,  and  leave  the  purchaser  to  collect 
at  maturity.  They  will  not  be  paid  ;  you  may  rely 
upon  that.  A  third  party  can  sue  them  out  with  fair 
prospect  of  recovery  against  Mrs.  Larobe  ;  but  any 
such  attempt  on  your  part  would  certainly  fail  of  suc 
cess." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  replied  the  young  man, 
"  but  hesitate  about  offering  the  notes.  I  cannot  feel 
that  it  would  be  safe  to  trust  them  in  the  hands  of  a 
broker." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  173 

Glastonbury  answered,  "No,  not  by  any  means," 
speaking  with  decision.  "  We  do  not  know  to  what  ex 
tent  a  knowledge  of  their  existence  may  prevail,  secretly 
communicated  to  brokers  and  money-lenders." 

"  What  then  is  to  be  done  ?  How  are  we  to  sell  the 
notes  ?  " 

G.lastonbury's  indifferent  manner  had  quite  passed 
away,  and  he  looked  serious  and  business-like.  Nearly 
half  a  minute  elapsed  before  he  answered,  with  a 
thoughtful  air  — 

"  You  have  put  the  question  most  difficult  to  meet. 
The  thing  must  be  done ;  but  how  to  do  it  ?  —  there 
lies  the  problem." 

And  the  lawyer  went  to  thinking  again.  "  There  is 
a  man  with  whom  something  might  be  effected.  He 
has  the  money,  and  likes  large  slices  in  the  way  of  dis 
counts.  I  don't  know  about  him,  but  he  may  be  in 
duced  to  advance  on  this  paper."  Glastonbury  talked 
as  if  to  himself. 

"  Are  you  personally  acquainted  ?  "  asked  Edwin. 

We  see  each  other  now  and  then,  in  a  business 
way." 

"  Could  you  approach  him  on  this  subject  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  the  question  I  am  debating.  It  will 
not  do,  my  friend,  to  trust  this  paper  with  any  third 
party.  Either  you  or  I,  must  negotiate  direct.  Again, 
its  value  is  in  jeopardy  every  hour  it  remains  in  your 


174  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

possession.  Suppose  a  caution  appear  in  the  '  American' 
to-morrow  morning,  giving  notice  that  it  has  been 
fraudulently  obtained  and  will  not  be  liquidated.  Its 
market  value  is  gone  ;  for  no  capitalist  will  touch  it. 
It  should  be  endorsed  to  make  it  negotiable,  and  then 
pass  from  your  immediate  possession." 

Edwin  Guy  put  his  hand,  almost  mechanically  into 
his  pocket,  and  drew  out  his  wallet.  Removing  the 
three  notes,  he  unfolded  and  laid  them  on  the  lawyer's 
table.  Glastonbury  took,  and  carefully  examined  them. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  see  the  person  of  whom  I 
spoke  just  now,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "  and  try  him 
with  the  shortest  note." 

"  Yery  well.  You  understand  the  matter  entirely, 
and  will  act,  I  know,  with  all  needed  prudence." 

"  He's  another  Shylock  in  his  greed  of  money,"  said 
Glastonbury  ;  "  and  will  demand  a  heavy  discount,  see 
ing  that  it  is  a  woman's  note,  and  the  endorsement  of 
no  value." 

"  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush,  Mr. 
Glastonbury.  Sell  the  paper  for  whatever  it  will  bring. 
I  leave  all  in  your  discretion,"  was  Edwin's  prompt  re- 

rtr- 

"  Put  your  name  on  the  notes."     And  the  lawyer 
pushed  his  pen  towards  Guy,  across  the  table. 
The  endorsement  was  made. 
"  A  third  party  holds  them  now.     Legally,  they  have 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWAKDS.  175 

been  negotiated,  and  are  no  longer  your  property,"  re 
marked  Glastonbury,  as  he  took  possession  of  the  notes. 
"  Their  value  is  simply  commercial,  like  any  other 
article  bought  and  sold  in  the  market,  and  good  against 
Mrs.  Larobe  in  the  face  of  all  allegations.  You  under 
stand  me  ?  " 

"Oyes." 

"  Very  well.  To-day,  if  possible,  I  will  see  my 
man,  and  try  what  can  be  done  with  him.  I  do  not  think 
he  will  bite  on  the  instant  —  he  isn't  that  sort  of  a  fish ; 
but  generally  surveys  the  bait  from  all  sides.  When 
he  does  take  hold,  however,  it  will  be  with  a  will." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  Guy. 

"  To-morrow  ?  —  to-morrow  ?  "  He  questioned  in 
a  doubtful  way.  "  Yes,  you  may  call  in  ;  but  I  have  a 
case  down  for  argument,  and  shall,  most  likely,  be  in 
court  all  day." 

"  In  that  event,"  said  Edwin,  with  some  anxiety  of 
manner,  "  you  will  not  be  able  to  see  our  capitalist. 
Of  all  things,  we  have  most  to  fear  from  delay.  Too 
much  time  has  already  been  lost.  An  advertisement, 
such  as  you  referred  to,  is  likely  to  appear  at  any  mo 
ment." 

"Very  true,  and  it  is,  therefore,  my  intention  to 
open  the  matter  of  negotiation  at  once.  I  shall  not 
wait  until  to-morrow.  Still,  two  or  three  days  may  in- 


176  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

tervene  before  a  transaction  can  be  effected.  He  will 
demand  too  large  a  slice.  One  half,  at  least." 

"  One  half !  "  There  was  no  feigned  astonishment 
in  the  voice  of  Edwin  Guy. 

44  He's  another  Shylock,  as  I  told  you,"  said  Glaston- 
bury,  coolly. 

"  So  I  should  think,"  replied  Edwin. 

"  But,  of  course,  I  shall  not  yield  to  and  such  demand." 

"  Of  course  not."  Edwin  was  far  from  being  altogeth 
er  satisfied,  or  from  feeling  altogether  safe  in  this  new 
relation  to  his  lawyer.  Something  in  the  man,  never 
observed  before,  stirred  a  latent  suspicion  of  unfairness 
in  his  mind.  There  was  nothing  clear  upon  which  his 
thoughts  could  rest ;  only  a  vague  impression  that  dis 
turbed  his  confidence.  And  this  dwelt  with  him  for  all 
that  day,  and  kept  him  wakeful  through  the  succeeding 
night. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

N  the  next  day,  Edwin  Guy  made  over 
half-a-dozen  ineffectual  attempts  to  see 
his  lawyer.  Glastonbury  was  occu 
pied  in  court  until  a  late  hour,  and 
then,  instead  of  returning  to  his  office, 
where  Guy  sat  impatiently  waiting  for 
him,  went  home  to  dinner.  Twice 
during  the  evening  the  young  man  tap 
ped  at  the  office  door,  but  found  the  room  tenantless. 
Until  nearly  ten  o'clock,  he  lingered  in  the  neighborhood 
of  St.  Paul's  and  Fayette  streets,  but  did  not  meet  the 
individual  he  was  so  anxious  to  find.  The  vague  un 
easiness  felt  on  the  day  before,  had  increased.  Suspicion 
crept  into  his  mind.  Doubts  oppressed  him.  If  Glas 
tonbury  chose  to  keep  the  notes,  or  return  them  to  Mrs. 
Larobe,  what  redress  had  he  ? 

On  the  morning  that  followed,  Edwin  was  at  Glaston- 
bury's  office  by  half  past  eight  o'clock.     The  lawyer 
8* 


178  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

had  not  yet  arrived.  Nine  o'clock,  and  he  was  still  ab 
sent.  The  young  man  became  too  restless  to  sit  still. 

"  Ah !  here  you  are  !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  last,  as  a 
form  .darkened  the  door,  and  he  looked  into  Glaston- 
bury's  cold,  still,  unreadable  face. 

"  Anything  new  happened  ?  You  look  flushed,  my 
young  friend."  A  single  glance  from  the  lawyer's 
searching  eyes,  left  with  Guy  the  uncomfortable  impres 
sion  of  having  been  read  through  and  through. 

o  o  o 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.  "  Only,  I  am  naturally 
anxious  to  hear  whether  you  have  succeeded  in  that  ne 
gotiation.  There  are  always  so  many  slips  between  the 
cup  and  lip,  that  I  shall  be  nervous  until  all  is  safe. 
Have  you  seen  the  person  of  whom  you  spoke  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  I  called  at  his  office  twice  on  the  day  you 
handed  me  the  notes,  but  did  not  succeed  in  finding  him. 
Yesterday,  as  I  said  would  be  the  case,  I  was  in  court 
until  a  late  hour.  This  morning,  I  determined  to  make 
sure  of  him,  and  called  at  his  office  on  my  way  down. 
Unfortunately,  he  left  in  the  early  train  for  Washing 
ton,  and  will  not  be  home  for  a  day  or  two." 

Edwin  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  Sit  down."  And  the  lawyer  blandly  waved  his  cli 
ent  to  a  chair,  himself  taking  one  at  the  same  time. 

"  I  have  thought  of  another  party,"  he  said,  "  with 
whom  something  may  be  done.  But  I  want  first,  to  see 
my  man,  who  has  slipped  off  to  Washington.  He's 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  179 

close-mouthed,  and  will  never  speak  of  the  paper,  should 
he  decline  to  purchase ;  and  that,  you  know,  is  a  thing 
to  be  considered.  If  we  can  work  the  whole  twelve 
thousand  with  him,  the  operation  will  be  safe  from  be 
ginning  to  end  of  the  negotiation.  But,  if  we  go  into 
market  before  seeing  him,  a  false  play  may  lose  us  the 
game.  We  cannot  be  too  circumspect,  Mr.  Guy." 

"  But  every  hour  is  an  hour  of  risk,  Mr.  Glaston- 
bury,"  said  the  young  man,  not  able  to  conceal  his  ner 
vousness. 

"  The  risks  are  less  to-day,  than  they  have  been  at 
any  time  since  you  obtained  the  notes,"  replied  the  law 
yer.  "  Legally,  they  have  been  already  negotiated,  and 
no  valid  plea  to  their  collection  can  be  set  up.  A  pub 
lic  notification  cannot,  now,  render  them  worthless." 

"But  it  can  prevent  my  realizing  the  money  on 
them,"  said  Guy. 

"  True.  Still,  our  case  would  not  be  desperate  ;  and 
that  is  a  great  gain,  you  know." 

"  You  will  not,  then,  be  able  to  see  this  person  for  two 
or  three  days  ?  " 

"  He  may  get  back  to-morrow  ;  and  I  will  see  that 
no  time  is  wasted  after  his  return,  but  gain  the  earliest 
possible  interview.  Don't  grow  impatient,  my  young 
friend,  nor  do  any  more  desperate  things.  The  well 
done  is,  in  most  cases,  slowly  done.  Rome  wasn't  built 
in  a  day." 


180  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

Guy  had  partly  made  up  his  mind,  in  case  none  of 
the  notes  were  discounted,  to  get  them  back  into  his  pos 
session  again.  But,  sitting  face  to  face  with  the  lawyer, 
and  hearing  what  he  had  to  say,  left  him  in  doubt  as  to 
the  propriety  of  asking  to  have  them  returned.  If  Glas- 
tonbury  meant  in  anything  to  play  him  false,  he  was 
now  too  much  in  his  power  to  take  the  risk  of  making 
him  an  open  enemy.  To  his  hasty  and  obscure  thought, 
it  seemed  wisest  to  let  things  rest  as  they  were.  So, 
he  went  away,  but  half  satisfied. 

In  the  mean -time  a  reconciliation  had  taken  place 
between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larobe.  The  former  had  left 
his  rooms  at  the  City  Hotel,  and  was  now  domiciled  un 
der  the  shadow  of  Washington  Monument.  A  fact  like 
this  produced  the  usual  gossip  and  remark,  and  a  great 
many  stories  bearing  on  the  causes  that  produced  the 
reconciliation,  circulated  from  lip  to  lip.  Some  of  these 
were  wild  and  improbable  enough.  Hints  of  unaccount 
able  things,  said  to  have  occurred  in  the  family,  found 
their  way  to  the  public  ear.  Servants  are  keen  eyed, 
and  not  always  discreet.  The  visit  of  Edwin,  and  its  ef 
fect  upon  Mrs.  Larobe  —  the  call  of  a  mysterious  stran 
ger,  the  very  sight  of  whom  caused  Mrs.  Larobe  to  drop 
to  the  floor  as  one  dead  —  the  summoning  of  Mr. 
Larobe,  and  the  establishment  of  a  policeman  in  the 
house  for  a  night  and  a  day  —  all  these  things  were,  in 
some  form,  reported  by  the  domestics,  and  variously 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  181 

exaggerated  afterwards.  Visitors  spoke  of  a  singular 
change  in  Mrs.  Larobe.  She  was  no  longer  the  cold, 
self-poised  woman,  who,  under  all  circumstances,  had 
borne  herself  so  evenly.  In  a  great  many  cases  she  de 
nied  callers  on  the  plea  of  indisposition,  or  gave  the 
custom-sanctioned  falsehood  —  "  Not  at  home  ;  "  but, 
the  few  acquaintances  who  saw  her,  rendered  sad  ac 
counts  of  her  condition.  "  She  looks  ten  years  older," 
said  one.  "  You'd  think  her  just  recovering  from  a  long 
illness,"  remarked  another.  "  She  has  a  scared  look," 
said  a  third,  "  and  is  so  nervous,  that  she  starts  at  the 
slightest  sound." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  speaking  to  his  son- 
in-law,  the  husband  of  Lena  —  "  there  are  some  strange 
stories  about  in  regard  to  Mrs.  Larobe.  Have  you  seen 
her  lately  ?  " 

The  two  men  were  alone  in  Doctor  Hofland's  office, 
where  the  younger  physician  had  called  one  night  for 
consultation,  touching  a  difficult  case. 

"  I  was  there  yesterday." 

"  Ah  !  Is  the  change  in  her  appearance  and  state  of 
mind  so  very  remarkable  ?  " 

"  It  is  ;  very  remarkable.  I  nave  been  calling  every 
week  to  see  her  oldest  boy,  for  whom,  I  fear,  medicine 
will  not  do  much.  I  noticed  some  time  ago,  a  change 
in  Mrs.  Larobe's  appearance  ;  but,  she  evaded  with  ap 
parent  displeasure,  the  few  inquiries  I  ventured  to  make 


182  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

in  regard  to  her  health.  Yesterday,  however,  she  con 
sulted  me  about  some  of  her  symptoms.  She  said,  that 
she  had  spells  of  dizziness,  followed  by  fainting  —  that 
she  was  not  able  to  sleep  at  night  —  had  no  appetite, 
and  felt  herself  growing  weaker  every  day.  She  thought 
there  must  be  heart  disease  —  enlargement,  probably." 

"  Ossification,  if  anything,"  remarked  Doctor  Hof- 
land,  in  so  cold  and  ironical  a  tone,  that  his  son-in-law 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  No  symptom  of  either,"  was  returned.  "  Every 
valve  and  muscle  is  doing  its  work  well.  The  disease 
has  another  origin." 

"  What'?  " 

"  It  is  mental;" 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  obtained  the  clue  ?  " 

"  No.  The  cause  is  hidden.  But,  there  is  no  mis 
taking  the  signs.  Something  has  occurred  to  shock  se 
verely  her  nervous  system." 

"  She  has  been  reconciled  to  her  husband,"  remarked 
Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Larobe  is  with  her  again,  and,  when  I 
have  seen  them  together,  he  has  been  kind  and  attentive. 
But  I  notice  in  her  one  peculiarity.  She  never  looks  at 
him  ;  but,  always  aside  or  beyond  him.  This  reconciha- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  183 

tion,  depend  on  it,  is  only  on  the  outside,  and  for  mutual 
safety,  or  mutual  gain.  There  is  no  heart  in  it." 

"  How  could  there  be ;  when  both  are  selfish  and 
cruel  ?  You  are,  doubtless,  correct  in  saying,  that  this 
apparent  reconciliation  is  for  mutual  safety,  or  mutual 
gain.  For  mutual  safety,  I  opine.  They  have  been,  I 
fear,  partners  in  some  great  wrong  that  is  now  strug 
gling  towards  the  light." 

"  Do  you  really  think,  Doctor,  that  Mr.  Quy  had  foul 
play  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  thought  so,"  replied  Doctor  Hofland. 
"  The  circumstances  attending  his  removal  from  home, 
and  subsequent  death,  were,  to  my  eyes,  veiled  in  mys 
tery.  Depend  on  it,  Adam  Guy's  passage  from  this 
world  to  the  next,  was  not  in  the  orderly  processes  of 
nature." 

"  Some  people  say  that  he  is  not  dead,"  remarked 
Doctor  Holbrook. 

"  What !  "  There  was  unfeigned  astonishment  in 
the  countenance  of  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  When  some  people  get  to  surmising,  they  will  sur 
mise  anything.  I  thought  you  had  heard  this  wild  con 
jecture  among  the  rest." 

"  No.  Not  dead  !  What  basis  is  there  for  such  a 
story  ?  " 

"  I  am  unable  to  say.     The  gossip  runs,  that  it  was 


184  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

not  Mr.  Guy  who  fell  from  the  mad-house  window,  but 
another  lunatic  ;  and  that  Mr.  Guy  is  still  living." 

"  A  wild  conjecture  enough,"  remarked  Doctor  Hof- 
land. 

"  And  it  is  further  said,  that  he  has  recently  escaped 
from  confinement,  and  is  now,  or  was  within  a  few 
weeks,  in  Baltimore." 

"  Why  Edward  !     You  confound  me  !  " 

"  And  furthermore,"  continued  the  young  physician, 
it  is  said,  and  believed  by  many,  that  he  actually  called, 
not  long  since,  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Larobe,  and  that 
at  the  sight  of  him  she  fell  insensible  to  the  floor. 
When  the  servants,  alarmed  by  the  fall,  ran  to  her,  she 
was  lying  as  one  dead.  A  strange,  wild  looking  man 
had  been  admitted,  who  would  not  give  his  name  ;  and 
in  meeting  him  in  the  parlor,  this  result  followed.  The 
stranger  went  out  hurriedly,  and  the  servants  found 
their  mistress  alone." 

"  Is  all  this  talked  of  seriously  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Hof- 
land. 

"  O  yes  ;  and  credited  into  the  bargain.  There  are 
people  who  stand  ready  to  believe  any  improbable  thing. 
It  is  said,  moreover,  to  make  the  story  good,  that  her 
husband,  from  whom  she  had  been  living  separate,  was 
summoned  immediately  on  her  restoration  to  life,  and 
that  he  procured  a  policeman,  who  remained  in  the 
house  all  night  and  through  the  next  day.  The  pre- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  185 

sumption  is,  that  the  escaped  lunatic  was  captured,  and 
restored  to  his  prison." 

Doctor  Hofland  drew  a  long  breath.  His  brows  fell 
—  his  lips  were  shut  tightly  —  a  dark  shadow  fell  over 
his  countenance. 

"  Strange  !  Very  strange  !  "  he  said,  speaking  in  an 
undertone. 

"  But  improbable,"  rejoined  the  young  physician. 

Doctor  Hofland  did  not  respond. 

"  You  don't  think  there  can  be  anything  in  all  this  ?  " 
Doctor  Holbrook  spoke  in  some  surprise. 

"  It  has  a  strange  look,  Edward.  Let  us  go  over  it 
again.  A  man  of  singular  appearance  called  on  Mrs. 
Larobe,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  she  fell  to  the 
floor  insensible  ?  So  the  story  runs  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  credit  this  on  any  sufficient  evidence  ?  " 

"  Something  of  the  kind  actually  occurred.  This,  I 
believe,  is  a  well  established  fact." 

"  What  about  the  story  of  a  policeman  being  estab 
lished  in  the  house,  by  direction  of  Mr.  Larobe,  for  a 
night  and  a  day !  " 

"  On  occasion  of  one  of  my  visits,  I  saw  a  man  sit 
ting  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall.  He  was  standing 
near  the  same  place  when  I  came  down  stairs." 

"  Had  he  the  air  of  a  policeman  ?  " 


186  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  He  was  a  stout,  firmly  set  man,  of  rather  coarse 
texture." 

"  Did  you  see  Mrs.  Larobe  at  this  time  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  was  her  appearance  ?  " 

"  She  was  so  altered  that  I  scarcely  knew  her.  The 
change  since  my  previous  visit,  a  week  before,  was 
most  extraordinary.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  col 
or  in  her  face ;  and  it  bore  the  impression  of  a  painful 
shock  of  some  kind,  the  remembrance  of  which  had  not 
yet  faded  from  nerves  and  muscles.  '  Are  you  ill  ?  ' 
I  asked,  showing  the  surprise  I  felt.  She  turned  her 
face  partly  away  from  my  earnest  eyes,  answering 
faintly —  '  Not  now.  I  had  a  terrible  sick  headache  all 
night.'  " 

"  Were  you  satisfied  with  her  answer  ?  " 

"  No.  Sick  headaches  are  bad  enough,  sometimes. 
But,  no  sick  headache  ever  wrought,  in  a  single  night, 
the  effects  she  displayed.  "  She  did  not  recover  from 
the  shock,  whatever  it  was  ?  " 

"  No." 

How  long  afterwards  was  it  before  she  and  her  hus 
band  made  up  their  difference  ?  " 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Larobe  at  my  next  visit,  within  three  or 
four  days." 

Doctor  Hofland  became  silent.  After  musing  for  a 
while,  he  resumed. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  187 

"  What  else  is  said  ?  " 

Before  the  young  physician  had  time  to  reply,  the 
office  door  opened,  and  a  woman  came  in.  She  was 
coarsely  dressed,  and  untidy. 

"  Are  yez  Docthur  Hofland  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at 
the  elder  of  the  two  men. 

"  I  am  Doctor  Hofland,' '  was  answered. 

"  Can  I  spake  wid  yez  a  minit  ?  "  The  woman's  air 
became  slightly  mysterious. 

"  Certainly."  Doctor  Holbrook  arose,  and  retired  to 
the  inner  offiice. 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

The  visitor  commenced  fumbling  in  her  bosom,  from 
which  she  drew  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper. 

"  IVlaybe  it  don't  mane  ony  thing,"  she  said,  in  a  low, 
half  confidential  way,  "  but  my  mon  jist  thought  he'd 
humor  him ;  and  I've  brought  it  till  yez."  And  the 
Irish  woman  reached  out  the  paper. 

Doctor  Hofland  saw  that  it  was  folded  and  sealed, 
and  bore  his  address.  Opening  it,  he  read,  in  an  almost 
illegible  hand,  to  his  deep  astonishment,  the  words  — 

"  Save  me.  ADAM  GUY." 

Repressing  as  far  as  he  had  power  to  do  so,  all  visible 
emotion,  Doctor  Hofland  requested  the  woman  to  be 
seated,  and  then  asked  — 


188  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  ?  " 

"  My  mon,  Hugh." 

"Hugh?"— 

"  McBride,  an  it  plaze  ye." 

"And  who  gave  it  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Ye'll  not  do  ony  thing  to  bring  harm  on  him,  sir  ? 
Ye'll  not  give  information.  My  mon  is  tender-hearted, 
he  is,  and  couldn't  deny  him.  It's  all  agin  the  rule. 
But  Hugh  is  tinder-hearted,  you  see  ;  and  the  poor  mon 
was  so  coaxin'  and  wheedlin'.  An  it's  sich  a  pity  on 
him  !  Hugh  says,  he's  not  so  fur  gone  as  thim  that's  put 
him  in  wants  to  make  believe." 

"  The  man  that-  gave  Hugh  this  ?  " 

"  Yis,  y'r  honor.  An  ye'll  promise  not  till  give  in 
formation  on  Hugh.  He's  so  tinder-hearted." 

"  Don't  have  any  fear  about  that,  my  good  woman. 
Nobody  shall  touch  a  hair  of  Hugh's  head.  Where  is 
he  now  ?  "  • 

"  He's  there,  y'r  honor." 

"Where?" 

"  Wid  the  lunatics.  Och  !  Sorra  !  An  it's  a  dread 
ful  place  to  be  in  for  my  Hugh,  he's  so  tinder-hearted, 
ye  know." 

"  In  what  street  is  the  asylum  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Asylum  ?  'Taint  the  asylum,  Docthur.  There's 
no  childther  there.  Oh  no,  'taint  the  asylum." 

"  A  private  institution  ?  " 


WHAT   CAME   AFTERWARDS.  189 

The  woman  shook  her  head  in  a  mystified  way. 

"  The  house  where  Hugh  takes  care  of  the  lunatics, 
I  mean. 

"  Dade  y'e  honor,  and  thot's  jist  the  perplexin'  thing. 
We  darn't  tell." 

"  Then  why  did  you  bring  me  this  letter  ?  " 

"  Don't  the  letther  tell  ?  " 

Doctor  Hofland  thought  it  best  not  to  give  an  answer 
to  this  question. 

"  Then  there  must  be  something  wrong ;  and  it's  my 
advice  that  you  get  your  husband  out  of  this  business 
as  quickly  as  possible,"  he  said,  with  a  soberness  that 
made  a  visible  impression  on  the  woman.  Then  rising,, 
he  stepped  to  the  door  that  opened  into  the  office  where 
Doctor  Holbrook  was  seated,  and  said,  in  a  low,  hurried 
whisper  — 

"  Go  for  a  policeman,  Edward  !  And  be  as  quick  as 
possible."  Shutting  the  door  with  a  gentle  hand,  so  that 
his  visitor  might  not,  through  betrayal  of  excitement  on 
his  part,  suspect  anything  wrong,  he  came  back,  and  re 
suming  his  chair,  went  on  — 

"  You  were  right  in  bringing  me  this  letter,  Mrs.  Me 
Bride.  I  know  the  poor  man,  and  must  see  him  at  once." 

"  Och,  indade,  sir !  And  thot'll  niver  do.  We'r 
bound  till  sacracy." 

"  Are  you  bound,  Mrs.  McBride  ?  " 


190  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Not  meself,  sir  ;  but  Hugh's  bound,  and  tliot's  all 
the  same.'* 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  Doctor.  If  a 
man  goes  into  unlawful  business,  and  become  a  party  to 
wrong  and  oppression,  I  am  not  able  to  see  how  his  acts 
bind  his  wife  to  the  same  things.  This,  let  me  tell  yon, 
is  a  very  serious  matter ;  more  serious,  a  great  deal,  than 
you  have  imagined,  and  the  quicker  both  you  and  your 
husband  are  out  of  it,  the  safer  will  you  be.  I  must  see 
this  lunatic  immediately." 

"  Och,  Docthur,  Docthur  !  I'm  all  bewilderment.  Let 
me  go  home  till  Hugh.  I  must  talk  wid  him.  YouVe 
set  me  to  shiverin'  all  over.  If  ony  harm  should  come 
till  Hugh  !  Oh,  sorra  !  sorra  I  "  And  the  frightened 
Irish  woman  commenced  wringing  her  hands. 

"  No  harm  will  come  to  him  if  he  does  right.  But, 
right  or  wrong,  he  is  safest  with  the  law  on  his  side." 

"  Wid  the  law  ?     How  dy'e  mane  Docthur  ?  " 

"  Through  this  letter,"  answered  the  Doctor,  holding 
up  the  crumpled  note  he  had  received,  "  I  am  advised 
that  an  old  and  wealthy  citizen  is  unlawfully  confined 
under  pretence  of  his  being  a  lunatic  ;  and  it  has,  there 
fore,  become  my  duty,  to  see  that  he  is  released,  and 
harm  be  to  all  who  stand  in  my  way  !  "  The  Doctor's 
voice  grew  stern  and  menacing  ;  and  the  woman's  fright 
increased. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  you  to  be  alarmed,  Mrs. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  191 

McBridc,"  resumed  Doctor  Hofland.  "  Your  way  is 
plain.  Take  me  to  the  house  where  this  man  is  confined, 
and  none  shall  be  the  wiser  for  your  agency  in  the  mat 
ter.  I  will  see  to  that." 

"  Twon't  do,  Docthur  !  Dade  un  I  can't.  Ivmust 
go  home  and  talk  wid  Hugh.'* 

"  Better  say  nothing  to  Hugh.  He  may  get  bewilder 
ed,  and  betray  himself.  Just  show  me  the  house,  and 
I'll  take  all  the  responsibility  beyond  that." 

But  the  Irish  woman  insisted  upon  it,  that  sne  must 
see  her  husband,  and  made  a  movement  to  go. 

"  Sit  down,  Mrs.  McBride  ;  sit  down  !  "  said  Doctor 
Hofland,  as  the  woman  rose  from  her  chair.  "  I  want 
to  ask  you  more  questions.  Do  you  know  who  the  per 
son  is  who  gave  your  husband  this  letter  ?  " 

"  Indade  not,  sir." 

"  Does  your  husband  know  ?  " 

"  He  don't  know  ony  on  um.  Only  Mr.  Black  knows 
who  they  be." 

"  Mr.  Black,  who  keeps  the  house  ?  " 

"  Dade,  an'  Docthur,  I  can't  stay  here  another  minit. 
Ye'r  jist  confoundin'  me.  I  must  see  Hugh."  And 
Mrs.  McBride  started  up,  and  was  at  the  door  ere  Doc 
tor  Hofland  could  make  a  movement  to  prevent  her  de 
parture. 

"  Stop,  stop,  ma'am  !     A  word  more  —  " 

But  the  Irish  woman  gave  no  heed.     She  jerked  open 


192  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

the  door  ere  Doctor  Hofland  was  half  across  the  office, 
and  gaining  the  street,  disappeared  from  view  in  the 
darkness  of  a  murky  night.  He  was  on  the  pavement 
in  a  moment  afterwards,  glancing  eagerly  up  and  down 
the  street,  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Any  at 
tempt  to  follow  her,  must,  he  saw,  be  vain  work ;  so,  af 
ter  standing  a  little  while,  quite  as  much  confounded  as 
the  Irish  woman  had  been,  Doctor  Hofland  went  back 
into  his  office  to  await  the  arrival  of  his  son-in-law,  Doc 
tor  Holbrook,  with  a  policeman. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

N  the  same  evening,  sat  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Larobe,  alone,  in  agitated  conference. 
Mr.  Larobe  had  said  to  his  wife,  in  re 
monstrance  — 

"  Jane,  you  must  rally  !  Your  ap 
pearance  and  conduct  are  attracting 
universal  attention,  and  occasioning 
remarks  and  conjectures  so  nearly  ap 
proaching  the  truth,  that  I  am  in  terror  every  moment." 
"  I  try  to  rally,"  was  answered,  in  a  gloomy,  depress 
ed  tone  of  voice  ;  "  but  have  lost  command  of  myself. 
I  seem  to  be  like  the  Italian  prisoner- — in  a  cell,  the 
walls  of  which  contract  around  me  every  day.  Imagi 
nation  goes  constantly  forward  to  the  moment,  when 
flesh  and  bones  will  be  crushed  into  a  lifeless  mass." 

"  Madness,  Jane  !  You  are  but  holding  out  your 
hands  to  destruction.  Be  the  calm,  self-poised  woman 
again.  Throw  off  this  nightmare.  All  eyes  are  upon 
you,  and  the  word  of  wonder,  touching  the  change  in 


194  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

your  appearance,  goes  freely  from  lip  to  lip.  People 
look  at  me  in  a  strange,  curious  way,  as  I  pass  along  the 
street ;  and  I  know  it  is  because  of  you.  Everything  is 
safe  now.  Day  after  to-morrow,  he  will  be  removed 
from  the  city." 

"Only  from  the  city."  Mrs.  Larobe's  voice  had  in 
it  something  so  icy,  in  its  low,  even  utterance  of  this 
sentence,  that  her  husband  felt  a  chill  along  his  nerves. 
He  looked  into  her  face ;  but  her  leaden  eyes  did  not 
return  his  gaze  —  did  not  hold  outward  things  on  the 
sensitive  retina. 

"  If  my  advice  had  prevailed,  this  would  not  have 
been,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  quickening  of  the  voice. 

Mr.  Larobe  understood  his  wife,  and  shuddered  in 
wardly.  The  movement  of  his  chair  a  few  inches  back, 
was  involuntary. 

"  There  is  no  safety  in  these  timid  measures,  Mr. 
Larobe,"  she  added,  with  stern  emphasis,  her  voice  rising 
to  a  fuller  volume.  "  Unless  strong  enough  to  walk 
resolutely  to  the  end,  it  is  folly  to  enter  a  perilous  way. 
I  saw  and  urged  this  in  the  beginning  ;  but  you  tempo 
rized  and  interposed,  thus  cursing  our  years  with  a  per 
petual  menace.  While  he  lives,  we  are  in  imminent 
danger.  It  is  his  life  or  our  lives  !  Shall  we  hesitate 
in  our  election  ?  Justin  Larobe  !  —  answer  me  ! — would 
not  the  news  of  his  death,  so  you  were  freed  from 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  195 

any  responsibility  touching  the  act,  be  the  sweetest  that 
could  this  moment  sound  in  your  ears  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  deny  it." 

"  Yon  would  not  care  as  to  how  he  died ;  whether  by 
violence,  or  in  the  order  of  nature  —  so  you  were  not 
involved  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  would  not  care." 

"  The  passage  can  be  made  swift  and  easy." 

Larobe  shuddered  again,  as  if  a  cold  wind  had  struck 
him. 

"  And  it  must  be  made  !  "  Mrs.  Larobe's  pale  face 
grew  dark  from  sudden  congestion  of  blood  in  the  veins. 
She  spoke  like  one  fearfully  in  earnest. 

"  Murder  will  out,  Jane  !  "  answered  her  husband,  in 
a  voice  so  altered,  that  his  own  ears  scarcely  recognized 
the  sound.  "  Murder  will  out !  Blood  stains  are  never 
washed  away.  Risk  anything  but  that !  " 

"  I  am  not  superstitious,"  replied  Mrs.  Larobe,  with 
covert  contempt  for  this  weakness,  in  her  tones.  "  If 
the  door  is  left  unguarded,  murder  will  out ;  if  the  wash 
ing  be  careless,  blood  will  remain.  But,  there  are  locks 
and  bolts  a-plenty ;  and  whole  rivers  for  cleansing.  Let 
the  work  be  well  done,  and  all  signs  removed ;  and  it 
must  be  done  !  Death  itself  were  better  than  this  hor 
rible  life.  He  must  not  be  taken  from  the  city.  A 
feeble,  exhausted  old  man,  the  prick  even  of  a  needle 
would  let  life  and  misery -out  together.  Why  torment  him 


196  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

longer  ?  It  is  cruel !  Let  him  die  ;  and  in  his  rest  and 
peace,  we  shall  find  rest  and  peace  also." 

"  The  murderer  never  has  rest  and  peace,"  answered 
Mr.  Larobe,  solemnly.  "'The  world's  criminal  record 
is  full  of  admonition.  Call  it  superstition,  or  what  you 
will,  Jane  —  earth  refuses  to  hide  the  blood  of  murder. 
No  —  no.  This,  depend  on  it,  is  not  the  way  of  safety  ; 
but  the  way  to  sure  destruction." 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  walk  in  this  way,"  said 
Mrs.  Larobe,  with  a  cruel  resolution  in  her  voice. 

Her  husband  felt  the  shivering  wind  sweep  over  his 
spirit  again  ;  and,  with  an  involuntary  movement,  re 
ceded  to  a  greater  distance.  The  dull,  leaden  hue  had 
left  her  eyes  which  now  had  a  steely  glitter.  Her  body 
was  more  erect ;  her  head  drawn  back  ;  her  lips  shut 
firmly. 

"  This  present  life  is  intolerable,  Justin  !  "  she  add 
ed.  "I  am  not  strong  enough  to  bear  the  burden.  You 
see  that  I  am  sinking  under  it,  daily.  I  shall  lose  my 
senses  in  a  month,  and  betray  everything  in  unconscious 
ravings.  Even  now*  I  catch  myself  muttering  aloud, 
in  the  presence  of  servants,  all  of  whom  seem  to  be 
watching  me  with  sharp  suspicion.  So  surely  as  you 
live  and  as  I  live,  Justin,  there  is  but  one  way  of  safety. 
If  that  be  not  taken,  we  are  lost.  My  poor  brain  can 
not  hold  out  much  longer.  I  feel  that  it  is  giving  way. 
If  this  terror  is  left  hanging  over  me,  madness  is  in 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 


197 


evitable ;  and  then,  though  I  may  be  safe  from  punish 
ment,  you  will  be  lost,  for  confession  will  drop  from  my 
unsealed  lips.  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  be  moved  to  con 
fess  everything." 

A  change  in  Mr.  Larobe's  face,  showed  that  his  wife's 
last  argument  had  reached  him.  He  did  not  reply  im 
mediately,  but  took  time  to  weigh  the  argument,  and  get 
to  its  real  value. 

"  I  am  disappointed  in  you,  Jane,"  he  said,  at  last,  in 
a  voice  that  was  hoarse  and  impeded.  "  I  never  expect 
ed  to  see  you  break  down  in  this  way.  Self-reliant, 
unimpassioned,  cool  and  wary,  I  thought  you  able  to 
walk  steadfastly  to  the  end.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  it  means,"  was  answered,  in  a 
depressed  tone.  "  But  the  fact- is  upon  us,  and  we  must 
deal  with  it  as  best  we  can.  The  nerves  are  not  wrought 
of  insensate  brass.  At  least,  not  mine ;  and  under  the 
present  strain,  they  must  give  way.  When  that  calami 
ty  reaches  me,  I  shall  have  stepped  past  all  danger ; 
but  you,  Justin  Larobe,  will  be  in  most  imminent  peril ! 
I  warn  you  in  time !  Two  ways  are  before  you  ;  both 
difficult  to  walk  in, —  and  it  is  for  you  to  take  that  which 
is  safest." 

There  was  dead  silence  for  nearly  ten  minutes.  Both 
sat  motionless. 

"  I  must  sleep  on  this,"  said  Larobe,  breaking,  at 
length,  the  stillness.  "  To-night,  all  my  thoughts  are 


198  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

confused.  In  the  morning,  they  will  be  calmer  and 
clearer." 

"  Sleep  !  "  Ejaculated  his  wife,  with  an  emphasis  that 
made  him  start.  "  Sleep,  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano  !  or 
over  a  mine  with  the  train  ablaze !  There  is  no  more 
sleep  for  me,  until  this  terror  is  removed.  Why  hesitate, 
Justin  ?  Why  cut  off  until  to-morrow,  what  so  needs 
to  be  done  now.  Let  to-night's  darkness  hide  from  us, 
forever,  this  hideous  skeleton,  that  is  blasting  our  eyes 
at  every  turn." 

"  I  cannot  see  the  means,"  said  Larobe.  "  Work 
like  this  may  not  be  done  with  ordinary  agencies.  There 
is  no  living  soul  that  I  would  trust  with  the  power  over 
me  which  an  accomplice  in  such  a  crime  would  possess. 
If  he  is  to  be  taken  out  of  our  way,  by  whose  hand  shall 
it  be  done  ?  " 

There  followed  a  long  pause. 

"  Is  not  Black  to  be  trusted  ?  " 

"I  would  not  trust  him." 

Another  long  pause. 

"  It  might  be  done,  and  the  mystery  of  the  doing  left 
impenetrable."  Mrs.  Larobe  spoke  slowly,  but  with  con 
fidence. 

"  How,  and  by  whom  ?  " 

u  First  the  will,  and  then  the  way.  You  had  him 
taken  to  Black's,  and  can  remove  him  at  pleasure." 

"  Yes." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  199 

"  Remove  him  to  night." 

«  Whither  ?  " 

"  To  some  place  where  he  will  be  wholly  in  our 
power." 

"  You  talk  without  reason,"  said  Larobe,  with  some 
impatience.  "  The  very  fact  of  removing  him  to-night, 
and  without  previous  notice  of  intention,  would  of  itself 
create  suspicion.  Depend  upon  it,  Jane,  this  deed  can 
not  be  done  with  safety.  Every  step  will  be  in  difficul 
ty,  and  no  matter  how  lightly  and  cautiously  taken,  foot 
prints  must  remain  behind  ;  foot-prints,  along  which  the 
bloodhound  of  justice  will  follow  as  surely  as  fate." 

The  brief  animation  died  out  of  Mrs.  Larobe's  coun 
tenance.  It  grew  pale,  contracted,  and  shadowed  again. 

"  I  must  sleep  on  this,"  resumed  Mr.  Larobe,  repeat 
ing  what  he  had  said  a  little  while  before.  "  To-morrow 
morning,  I  shall  see  clearer.  To  act  now,  would  be  to 
act  blindly." 

Mrs.  Larobe  made  no  response.  Her  husband  did  not 
look  at  her  while  he  spoke.  Indeed,  he  rarely  looked 
into  her  face,  for  it  had  become  a  thing  repulsive  in  his 
eyes  ;  a  sight  to  be  avoided.  For  nearly  a  minute,  he 
sat  waiting  her  answer  —  but,  as  she  still  kept  silence, 
he  glanced  towards  her  without  turning  his  head.  In 
doing  so,  he  met  a  glance  stealthy  as  his  own,  watching 
him  from  the  covert  of  half  shut  lids  —  snaky,  cruel, 
and  malign.  In  an  instant  it  was  withdrawn ;  but,  it 


200  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

left  a  strange  shiver  of  fear  in  his  heart.  In  all  his  life, 
he  had  never  seen  so  remarkable  an  expression  in  any 
eye.  It  was  as  if  a  fiend  had  looked  at  him  —  a  fiend 
thirsting  with  an  insatiate  desire  to  do  him  harm. 

"  Sleep  if  you  can,"  said  the  woman,  coldly,  and  ris 
ing,  she  left  the  room. 

He  did  not  sleep.  And  the  long  delayed  morning 
found  his  brain  no  clearer  than  on  the  night  before. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

EARLY  ten  minutes  elapsed  after  the 
woman's  flight  before  Doctor  Holbrook 
came  back  with  a  policeman.  His  delay 
gave  Dr.  Hofland  time  for  reflection. 

"  The  bird  has  flown,"  he  said,  as  the 
two  men  entered.  He  spoke  so  quietly 
that  both  the  policeman  and  his  son-in- 
law  wondered  at  his  manner ;  for  the 
latter,  having  been  enjoined  to  go  quickly  on  his  errand, 
had,  on  finding  the  officer,  hurried  him  with  all  possible 
speed  to  the  Doctor's  office. 

"  Who  was  she  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Holbrook. 
"  An  Irish  woman,  who  has  a  secret  that  I  meant  to 
penetrate  ;  and  I  wanted  your  good  offices  in  the  mat 
ter,"  looking  at  the  policeman.  "  But,  as  I  said,  the 
bird  has  flown.  I  pressed  her  so  closely  with  questions 
that  she  got  alarmed,  and  flitted  away  before  I  could 
arrest  the  movement." 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  "  asked  the  policeman. 


202  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Never  saw  her  before  in  my  life." 

"  Does  her  secret  involve  anything  criminal  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  it  does.  Not,  probably,  on  her  part ; 
but,  she  has  knowledge  of  things  that  are  wrong,  and  my 
design  was  to  secure  her  person,  and  so  get,  if  possible, 
to  the  bottom  of  certain  transactions  of  which  I  gained 
dark  hints  in  my  brief  interview.  Her  escape  leaves 
me  at  fault.  But  the  intimations  she  threw  out  are  of 
so  serious  a  character,  that  I  deem  it  best  to  confer 
with  the  Mayor.  Can  I  see  him  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Will  you  ascertain  the  fact,  and  then  bring  me  word 
at  what  time  he  will  give  me  an  audience  ?  " 

"  How  long  will  you  remain  in  your  office,  Doc 
tor  ?  " 

"  For  an  hour." 

"  Within  that  time  you  shall  have  the  information 
desired."  And  the  officer  withdrew. 

"  Common  report  was  nearer  the  truth  than  you  or  I 
imagined,  Edward,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone.  "  Old  Adam  Guy  is  not  dead." 

And  he  related  the  particulars  of  his  interview  with 
the  Irish  woman. 

"  Whatever  is  done,  must  be  done  speedily,"  remark 
ed  Doctor  Holbrook.  "  To-morrow  he  may  be  taken 
from  the  city,  and  removed  no  one  can  tell  whither." 

"  To  be  murdered,"     said  Doctor  Hofland.     "  That 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  203 

will  come  next.  I  wonder,  seeing  how  much  his  wife 
and  her  accomplice  have  at  stake,  that  this  last  act  in 
the  tragedy  has  been  so  long  delayed.  The  fact  that 
he  was  believed  to  be  dead,  would  have  made  the  crime 
comparatively  a  safe  one.  Yes,  Edward,  whatever  is 
done  will  have  to  be  done  speedily.  To-night  he  must 
be  released." 

"  If  possible  to  discover  where  he  is  confined." 

"  There  will  be  no  trouble  in  that,"  said  Doctor  Hof- 
land.  "  A  place  like  the  one  in  which  he  is  held  an 
unwilling  prisoner,  can  hardly  be  unknown  to  the  police. 
Mrs.  McBride  let  drop  the  keeper's  name.  We  shall 
find  him,  Edward,  I  am  confident  of  this." 

The  two  men  sat  silent  for  a  short  time,  each  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts. 

u  So  much  for  money  !  "  spoke  out  Doctor  Hofland, 
breaking  in,  after  awhile,  upon  this  silence.  So  much 
for  money  !  "  he  repeated.  "  It  was  to  fill  his  lap  with 
blessing;  yet  has  it  proved  only  a  curse.  Wretched, 
wretched  man !  In  all  these  dreary  years  of  impris 
onment  as  a  lunatic  —  dead  to  the  world  —  what  fear 
ful  things  must  he  not  have  suffered?  When  my 
thought  touches  this  point  in  the  case,  I  shudder  as  in 
the  presence  of  vague  shapes  of  horror.  To  a  man  like 
him  there  was  no  help.  No  materials  were  laid  up  in 
his  mind  out  of  which  to  build  a  house  for  his  soul  to 
dwell  in,  and  find  shelter  from  storms  of  passion.  His 


204  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

head  was  naked  and  his  body  bare  for  sun  and  tempest 
to  assail." 

"  The  probabilities  are  all  against  him,"  said  the 
younger  physician.  "  His  brief  communication  reads  like 
the  despairing  cry  of  an  insane  man,  uttered  in  a  lucid 
moment.  If  we  discover  the  place  of  his  imprisonment, 
we  shall  find  him,  I  fear,  but  a  helpless  wreck.  A  man 
such  as  you  have  described  him,  would  hardly  retain  his 
reason  through  an  ordeal  like  this." 

"  The  worst,  in  that  direction,  is  to  be  feared,"  an 
swered  Doctor  Hofland.  "But,  no  matter  what  his 
state  of  mind,  he  must  be  rescued  from  their  hands,  and 
placed  under  conditions  the  most  favorable  to  mental  and 
bodily  health." 

"  The  fact  of  his  being  alive  —  and  with  the  knowl 
edge  of  Larobe  and  his  wife  —  will  establish  another 
crime." 

"  Bigamy,"  said  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Yes." 

"  These  accomplices  are  in  a  desperate  strait,  and  to 
save  themselves,  will  not  shrink  from  desperate  measures. 
The  tempter  who  has  lured  them  into  this  appalling 
danger,  will  not  hesitate  about  the  suggestion  of  mur 
der  as  the  only  way  of  escape.  He  will  magnify  the 
safety  and  diminish  the  peril  of  this  crime ;  and  they, 
bewildered  and  frightened,  will  go  over  to  the  fiend." 

"  If  there  was  sufficient  evidence  to  procure  their 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  205 

arrest,"  said  the  son-in-law,  "  so  much  would  be  done 
towards  Mr.  Guy's  safety." 

"  That  point  I  wish  to  talk  over  with  the  Mayor.  It 
is  barely  possible,  you  know,  that  all  may  not  be  just 
as  we  infer.  This  letter,  even,  may  not  indicate  the 
exact  truth.  The  writer  may  only  be  a  pretended 
Adam  Guy." 

The  young  physician  shook  his  head  doubtingly. 

"  All  circumstances  considered,"  resumed  Doctor 
Hofland,  "  I  think,  with  you,  that  the  letter  is  genuine, 
and  shall  act  on  that  assumption  up  to  the  limit  of  pru 
dence.  But,  the  gravest  things  are  involved,  and  every 
step  taken  should  be  well  considered.  I  may  get  my 
self  into  serious  trouble  without  benefit  to  any  one. 
Larobe  is  not  the  man  on  whom  to  make  an  assault,  un 
less  you  are  invulnerable  at  all  points." 

The  policeman  came  back  while  they  were  yet  talking, 
and  said  that  the  Mayor  would  see  Doctor  Hofland  at 
nine  o'clock.  Precisely  at  the  hour  they  met.  The 
interview  was  a  long  one.  At  first  the  Mayor  was 
wholly  incredulous  ;  but,  after  listening  to  Doctor  Hof- 
land's  clearly  given  statement  of  all  he  knew  about  the 
insanity  and  confinement  of  Mr.  Guy,  and  comparing 
the  common  rumor  of  the  town  with  the  recent  sin 
gular  change  in  Mrs.  Guy,  as  noted  by  her  friends,  but 
particularly  by  Doctor  Holbrook,  he  began  to  see  the 
case  differently.  One  duty,  at  least,  was  plain.  The 


206  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

private   mad-house  —  or  prison  —  of  Mr.  Black,  must 
must  be  discovered,  and  that  without  delay. 

"  I  will  place  this  matter  in  the  hands  of  a  discreet 
officer,"  said  the  Mayor,  "  who  will  get  speedily  to  the 
bottom  of  it." 

"  To-night  ?  " 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  to-night,  Doctor." 

"  A  Tew  hours,  and  all  may  be  lost !  "  replied  the 
Doctor.  "  If  Adam  Guy  be  really  alive,  and  held  in 
constraint  by  Mr.  Larobe,  too  much  is  periled  by  leaving 
him  in  the  city  —  too  much  by  suffering  him  to  live, 
even.  To-morrow  may  be  too  late,  sir.  Whatever  is 
done,  must  be  done  speedily.  Let  me  conjure  you  to 
act  to-night,  lest  another  crime  be  added  to  a  dark  cat 
alogue.  Nothing  will  be  made  public.  No  good  name 
will  suffer  in  this  prompt  movement,  if  discreetly  made. 
Should  no  wrong  be  discovered,  no  guilt  can  be  charged 
upon  any  one.  But,  if  wrong  be  arrested,  and  further 
crime  prevented,  the  gain  will  be  incalculable." 

The  Mayor,  as  Doctor  Hofland  ceased  speaking, 
lifted  a  small  bell  from  the  table,  and  rang  it  lightly. 
An  attendant  came  in  from  the  adjoining  room,  the 
door  of  which  had  been  shut. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Joyce  that  I  want  him." 

The  attendant  withdrew,  and  in  a  few  moments  a 
slender,  keen-eyed  man,  entered.  The  first  impression 
he  made  was  that  of  a  slightly  built  person;  but  a 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  207 

second  glance,  showed  him  to  be  compact  and  sinewy. 
His  step  had  a  spring  that  indicated  both  mental  and 
physical  confidence. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Joyce,"  said  the  Mayor,  waving  his 
hand  towards  a  chair.  The  man  sat  down,  yet  holding 
his  person  erect,  and  with  a  prompt  air,  like  one  expec 
tant  and  ready. 

"  Is  there  such  a  place  in  the  city  as  a  private  hospital, 
or  refuge  for  insane  people,  under  the  care  of  a  man 
named  Black  ?  "  enquired  the  Mayor, 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  it,"  was  the  unhesitating  reply. 

"  Do  you  know  an  Irishman  named  Hugh  Mc- 
Bride  ?  " 

"  A  weaver  by  trade  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  informed  as  to  that." 

u  I  know  two  or  three  McBrides.  One,  a  weaver,  is 
Hugh  McBride." 

"  A  married  man  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  In  Commerce  street." 

"  Take  an  officer,  Mr.  Joyce,  and  bring  McBride  and 
his  wife  iiere  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  If  he  is 
not  at  home,  bring  his  wife.  If  neither  are  at  home, 
report  immediately." 

The  man  arose  and  went  out. 

"It  will  be  desiriable  for  you  to  remain,  Doctor, until 


208  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

his  return,"  said  the  Mayor.  "  Can  you  identify  the 
woman  who  called  at  your  office  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  If  we  succeed  in  finding  her,  we  shall  obtain  a  clue 
not  likely  to  fail.  Mr.  Joyce  will  follow  it  up  quickly." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Mr.  Joyce  came  back,  and 
reported  the  rooms  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McBride  closed 
and  locked.  He  had  made  no  enquiries  of  the  other 
families  in*  the  house  in  regard  to  them,  lest  suspicion 
touching  the  nature  of  his  business  should  be  awaken 
ed.  So  far,  the  movement  was  without  result. 

"  Did  you  leave  a  policeman  in  the  neighborhood  to 
watch  for  their  return  ?  "  asked  the  Mayor. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  can  depend  on  him  ?  " 

"O  yes,  sir." 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Joyce." 

The  man  sat  down,  holding  himself  erect,  with  the 
prompt,  expectant  air  before  mentioned. 

"  We  have  intimations,  Mr.  Joyce,"  said  the  Mayor, 
"  of  something  wrong.  We  believe  that  a  man  is  con 
fined  somewhere  in  the  city  under  pretence  of  insanity. 
Our  information  goes  so  far  as  to  cover  the  name  of  the 
individual  who  holds  this  man,  with  others,  in  confine 
ment  —  it  is  Black.  An  Irishman  named  Hugh  Mc 
Bride  is  one  of  his  assistants.  There  are  features  about 
the  case  that  render  prompt  action  necessary.  We 


WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS.  209 

must  discover  Black  to-night,  if  possible,  and  remove 
the  person  of  whom  I  spoke.'7 

"  Are  you  certain  the  name  is  Black  ?  "  asked  the 
officer. 

The  Mayor  looked  towards  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  That  is  the  name  I  received.  But,  it  may  not  be 
the  true  one,"  answered  the  Doctor. 

"  There  is  a  Doctor  Black  on  East  Baltimore  street," 
said  the  officer.  "  He  occupies  a  large  house  beyond 
Broadway,  and  has,  I  think,  resident  patients.  This 
may  be  the  man." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  this  individual,  Doctor 
Hofland  ?  "  enquired  the  Mayor. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  In  riding  out  East 
Baltimore  street,  occasionally,  I  have,  noticed  the  name. 
But,  the  person  of  Doctor  Black  is  unknown  to  me.  I 
infer,  that  he  has  no  standing  with  the  profession." 

"  You  had  best  follow  out  this  thread,  Mr.  Joyce,  and 
see  whither  it  leads,"  said  the  Mayor. 

"  May  I  suggest,  the  immediate  despatch  of  one  or 
two  policemen  to  the  vicinity  of  Doctor  Black's  house, 
with  instructions  not  to  let  any  one  be  removed  there 
from  to-night.  The  fact  that  Mrs.  McBride  is  away 
from  home,  gives  me  concern.  She  may  have  become 
alarmed  for  the  consequences  of  her  visit  to  my  office," 
said  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Did  this  woman  call  at  your  office  ?  "  asked  Mr. 


210  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Joyce,  with  the  smallest  perceptible  shade  of  surprise  in 
his  tone. 

The  Doctor  glanced  towards  the  Mayor,  who  answer 
ed  the  policeman's  question. 

44  Mrs.  McBride  was  at  the  Doctor's  office  this  evening, 
and  during  her  visit,  let  drop  certain  things,  which, 
taken  in  connection  with  things  already  known,  make  it 
clear  that  a  very  serious  wrong  exists.  The  suggestion 
of  Doctor  Hofland  is  a  good  one.  Set  a  watch  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  do  not  permit  the  removal  of  any 
person  from  the  house  of  Doctor  Black." 

Mr.  Joyce  arose,  promptly. 

"  A  moment,  if  you  please,"  said  Doctor  Hofland, 
as  the  man  was  about  retiring  from  the  room.  "  I  feel 
deeply  interested  in  this  business*  Every  minute  that 
passes  will  be  one  of  painful  suspense.  How  soon  can 
we  expect  to  hear  from  you  ?  " 

44  Within  an  hour,"  answered  Mr.  Joyce. 

44  It  is  now  ten  o'clock." 

44  By  eleven  I  will  report  all  that  can  be  learned  of 
Doctor  Black.  Will  your  Honor  be  here  ?  "  looking  at 
the  Mayor. 

44 1  shall  remain,  Mr.  Joyce,  until  your  return." 

The  officer  bowed,  and  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HE  thoughtful  silence  which  succeeded 
to  the  departure  of  Mr.  Joyce,  was 
not  yet  broken,  when  a  policeman  en 
tered,  having  in  custody  an  Irish  wo 
man. 

"  Mrs.  McBride,"  said  Doctor  Hof- 
land,  in  an  undertone,  to  the  Mayor. 

The  woman  had  a  half  frightened 5 
half  defiant  look. 

"You  were  at  Doctor  Black's,  in  East  Baltimore 
street,  to-night,"  said  the  Mayor,  abruptly  addressing 
her,  as  she  was  brought  forward  and  placed  before  him. 
"  'Dade  thin,  un  I'll  not  denoy  thot  same,  y'r  honor," 
replied  the  Irish  woman,  with  an  odd  mixture  of  alarm 
and  humor  in  her  manner. 

"  Did  you  see  your  husband,  Mrs.  McBride  ?  " 
"  Did  I  see  Hugh,  y'r  honor  ?  "     She  was  trying  to 
gain  time  for  ready  wit  to  serve  her  in  this  narrow 
strait. 


212  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  Yes,  Hugh  McBride,  your  husband?  " 

"  I  saw  him  jist  at  dark,  sir." 

44  At  Doctor  Black's  ?  " 

"  Yis,  y'r  honor." 

44  Have  you  seen  him  since  you  were  at  Doctor  Hof- 
land's  office  ?  Remember  where  you  are,  Mrs.  McBride. 
There  must  be  no  evasion.  The  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth.  Have  you  seen  Hugh  since 
you  saw  the  Doctor  ?  " 

44  I'll  not  denoy  it,  y'r  honor." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"Say  'till  him  ?  I  sed  jist  these  words,  y'r  Honor 
—  un  I'll  make,  a  clane  breast  ov  it  —  I  sed,  Hugh,  hon 
ey,  the  jig's  up,  and  there'll  be  the  divil  to  pay ;  so 
come  away  home  wid  yez." 

44  And  what  did  Hugh  say  to  this ;  Mrs.  McBride  ?  " 

44  He  didn't  say  nothin,  but  4  whist ! '  y'r  honor. 
For,  you  see,  Musther  Black  came  on  us  all  ov  a 
suddint.  Und  he  sed  'till  Hugh,  in  angry,  suspicious 
kind  of  way  —  looking  at  me,  y'r  honor  — 4  Whot's 
thot  woman  doin'  here  agin  ?  '  So  Hugh  sed  —  makin' 
b'lieve  mad,  you  know  — '  Go  aff  home  wid  ye,  Biddy, 
and  don't  come  a  trapesin'  here  ony  more.  I'll  not 
have  it.  It's  agin  the  rule,  as  I've  told  yez  more  nor 
twenty  times.  And  so,  y'r  honor,  I  come  away." 

44  And  this  is  all  that  passed  between  you  and  your 
husband." 


WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS.  213 

"  Ivery  blissed  word." 

"  You'll  have  to  stay  here  all  night,  Mrs.  McBride," 
said  the  Mayor,  in  answer  to  which  the  Irish  woman's 
face  was  flooded  over  with  ready  tears,  and  she  set  up  a 
low  howl  of  distress. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  the  Mayor,  sternly.  "  We  must 
have  none  of  this.  Take  care  of  her  for  the  night, 
Wilkins,"  speaking  to  the  policeman  who  had  her  in 
charge,  "  and  see  that  she  is  comfortable." 

Mrs.  McBride  was  removed,  and  Doctor  Hofland  was 
again  alone  with  the  Mayor.  A  brief  consultation  fol 
lowed,  when  it  was  determined  to  visit  the  house  of 
Doctor  Black  without  delay,  and  remove  Mr.  Guy  if 
found  there.  A  carriage  was  sent  for,  and  in  company 
with  a  single  policeman,  they  drove  out  East  Balti 
more  street.  The  policeman  sat  with  the  driver,  and 
his  orders  were  to  keep  a  sharp  look  out  for  Mr.  Joyce. 
That  person  was  espied,  near  the  McKim  school-house, 
and  taken  into  the  carriage,  when  he  was  informed  of 
Mrs.  McBride's  arrest.  A  little  beyond  Broadway, 
they  left  the  carriage,  and  walked  for  a  distance  of  two 
or  three  squares,  when  they  came  to  the  building  occu 
pied  by  Doctor  Black.  It  was  a  large,  double  house, 
the  lot  fronting  more  than  a  hundred  feet  on  each  side, 
and  shut  in  from  the  street  by  a  high  board  fence.  The 
entire  area  of  the  lot  was  more  than  half  an  acre,  and 
it  was  thickly  covered  with  shade  trees  and  shrubbery, 


214  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

It  was  now  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  The  house  had  a 
gloomy  aspect.  Through  only  one  of  its  many  windows 
looking  down  upon  the  street  was  light  visible,  and  there 
it  was  feeble,  as  if  from  the  low,  burning  lamp  of  a  sick 
chamber.  The  bell  was  rung,  and,  almost  immediately, 
the  door  swung  open. 

"  We  wish  to  see  Doctor  Black,"  said  the  Mayor,  as 
he  stepped  in  past  a  negro  waiter  who  still  held  the 
door-knob  in  his  hand.  Doctor  Hofland  and  Mr.  Joyce 
followed.  The  door  shut,  and  they  found  themselves  in 
a  large,  square  hall,  from  which  the  stairway  ascended, 
and  from  which  doors  opened  to  the  right  and  left.  Be 
fore  the  waiter  had  time  to  reply,  the  left  hand  door 
opened,  showing  a  small,  well  lighted  office  or  reception 
room,  and  a  man  came  out  into  the  hall.  There  was 
nothing  specially  remarkable  in  his  appearance,  at  the 
first  glance,  nor  did  he  betray  any  surprise  at  this  un 
timely  visit  of  personages,  at  least  two  of  whom,  the 
Mayor  and  Doctor  Hofland,  were,  in  all  probability, 
well  known  to  him. 

"  Is  this  Doctor  Black  ?  "  enquired  the  Mayor. 

The  man  bowed  assent,  and  then  motioned  his  visitors 
to  enter  the  room  from  which  he  had  just  emerged. 
They  passed  in,  and  he  shut  the  door.  The  furniture 
of  this  room  consisted  of  a  table  standing  in  the  centre, 
on  which  were  writing  materials  ;  a  few  chairs,  and 
cases  filled  with  books. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  215 

The  face  of  Doctor  Black  was  not  one  that  impressed 
favorably.  If  it  had  any  distinguishing  peculiarity,  it 
was  immobility  —  a  thoroughly  hidden  and  inexpansive 
face.  The  eyes  were  blue  and  cold  ;  the  mouth  feeble  ; 
the  nose  thin  and  long.  He  had  small  side  whiskers, 
of  a  sandy  hue,  that  were  just  a  shade  sandier  than  his 
hair. 

The  Mayor  took  a  seat  at  the  table,  with  .the  light 
full  on  his  face,  while  Doctor  Hofland  and  Mr.  Joyce 
occupied  chairs  at  the  sides  of  the  room.  Doctor  Black 
sat  opposite  the  Mayor  and  in  the  light.  Doctor  Hofland, 
who  could  not  remember  ever  having  seen  this  man  before, 
scanned  his  face  closely,  marking  even  the  slightest 
change  of  expression,  in  order  to  form  some  definite 
opinion  of  his  character.  It  was  soon  plainly  apparent, 
that  his  calm  exterior  covered  alert  suspicion.  His  cold 
blue  eyes,  which  dropped  away  from  the  Mayor's  direct 
gaze,  returned  instantly  to  his  face,  the  moment  that 
gaze  was  withdrawn,  with  a  keen,  intelligent  scrutiny. 
Doctor  Hofland  noted  the  constant  repetition  of  this 
covert  scrutiny.  There  were  but  few  preliminary  sen 
tences.  Then  the  Mayor  said,  coming  directly  to  the 
matter  in  hand  — 

"  Doctor  Black,  I  am  Mayor  of  the  city.  One  of 
the  gentlemen  who  accompany  me,  is  Doctor  Hofland, 
whom  you  probably  know,  an  old  resident  physician  ; 
the  other  is  a  policeman.  Doctor  Hofland  has,  this 


216  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

evening,  received  a  note  from  one  Adam  Guy,  held  by 
you  in  this  place  as  a  lunatic,  and  we  are  here  to  take 
him  out  of  your  custody." 

Doctor  Hofland  was  reading  Black's  face,  while  the 
Mayor  thus  addressed  him,  with  an  almost  breathless 
scrutiny ;  but  he  could  detect  scarcely  any  change  in  its 
expression. 

"  You  may  not  be  informed  of  all  the  circumsta'nces 
attendant  on  this  case,"  continued  the  Mayor,  "  nor  of 
the  peril  in  which  you  are  involved  as  a  suspected  ac 
complice  in  one  of  the  most  shocking  crimes,  short  of 
murder,  that  our  city  has  known." 

There  was  a  change  now.  Doctor  Hofland  read  sur 
prise,  mingled  with  alarm,  in  the  man's  countenance. 

"  It  will  be  safest  for  you,  Doctor  Black,"  continued 
the  Mayor,  "  to  accept  the  necessities  of  this  case,  and 
at  once  pass  your  patient  into  our  hands.  For  the  pres 
ent,  considerations  not  necessary  to  mention,  may  lead 
to  the  withholding  of  this  affair  from  the  public  ;  unless 
you  force  us  unto  an  arrest  of  yourself,  which  will  be 
done  immediately.  A  thorough  search  of  your  establish 
ment  will  then  be  made.  If  you  are  a  prudent  man, 
you  will  interpose  no  obstacle." 

Still,  Black  neither  answered  nor  moved. 

"  You  can  have  five  minutes  to  decide  on  the  course 
you  may  deem  best  for  your  own  safety  and  interests," 
added  the  Mayor. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  217 

"  I  have  decided  that  already,"  answered  the  man,  in 
a  cold,  even  utterance  of  the  words.  "  It  is  near  mid 
night,  and  I  am  in  the  hands  of  the  first  executive  officer 
of  this  city.  If  I  had  any  interest  in  resisting  your 
demand  —  which  I  have  not  —  resistance  would  be  folly. 
The  wretched  old  man  after  whom  you  have  come,  is  at 
your  disposal."  And  Doctor  Black  arose.  "  Shall  I 
have  him  brought  down  ?  " 

"  We  would  prefer  being  taken  to  the  room  where 
he  is  confined,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  speaking  now  for 
the  first  time.  Black  darted  on  him  a  sudden  look, 
and  the  Doctor  caught  the  glitter  of  his  eyes  ;  but  in 
stantly  the  look  was  withdrawn. 

"  As  you  please,  gentlemen."  And  Black  moved  to 
wards  the  door.  The  four  men  passed  into  the  hall, 
where  a  lamp  was  procured.  From  thence  they  ascend 
ed  to  the  second  story,  preceded  by  Doctor  Black,  and 
through  a  passage  to  a  wing  built  out  from  the  eastern 
side  of  the  house.  At  the  extremity  of  this  passage,  a 
narrow  stairway  led  to  the  third  floor.  Thither  they 
proceeded. 

"  The  presence  of  so  many  strangers  will,  I  fear, 
greatly  disturb  him,"  said  Doctor  Black,  pausing  before 
a  door,  and  taking  a  key  from  his  pocket. 

"  It  will  only  be  necessary  for  Doctor  Hofland  to  go 
in,"  replied  the  Mayor.  "  We  can  stay  on  the  outside." 

"  He  is  probably  sleeping,  remarked  Doctor  Black, 
10 


218  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

in  a  repressed  voice,  as  he  turned  the  key.  Doctor 
Hofland  entered  with  him.  The  apartment  was  narrow, 
with  a  grated  window  at  the  lower  end.  An  iron  bed 
stead  stood  half  way  down  the  room.  On  this  lay  a 
man,  whose  eyes  sent  back  gleams  from  the  light  that 
shone  in  suddenly  upon  him.  He  arose  quickly,  and 
sat  on  the  side  of  his  bed.  The  rattling  of  a  chain,  in 
the  movement,  showed  that  he  was  a  closely  guarded 
patient. 

44  You,  of  course,"  said  Doctor  Black,  in  a  low  tone, 
"  take  all  the  risks  of  a  removal." 

44  All,"  was  the  simple,  but  emphatic  response. 

The  two  men  went  slowly  towards  the  patient.  His 
figure  w&s  emaciated,  one  naked  leg  thrust  out  from  the 
bed  showing  little  in  its  contour  but  sinew  and  bone. 
A  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat,  exposed  a  lean  and 
knotted  breast.  His  face  was  covered  on  the  lower  part 
with  a  long  white  beard,  that  fell  below  the  throat-pit. 
His  eyes  shone  away  back  from  hollow  orbits,  with  an 
intense,  almost  fiery  brightness. 

44  Thank  God  !  "  This  man  was  first  to  speak,  and 
these  were  the  unexpected  words  that  dropped  from  his 
lips,  uttered  in  a  low,  fervent  voice.  "  Thank  God  !  " 
he  repeated,  now  with  a  tremor  of  eager  life.  He  stood 
up,  reaching  out  his  hands,  all  in  a  quiver  of  excitement. 
44  Doctor  Hofland  !  Doctor  Hofland  !  Oh,  my  friend  ! 
my  friend  I  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  219 

Doctor  Hofland  went  quickly  forward,  and  the  wretch 
ed  old  man  fell  into  his  arms,  sobbing,  moaning  and 
crying  like  a  weak,  long-suffering  child,  restored  to  its 
mother's  bosom.  The  recognition  was  not  mutual. 
Nothing  in  the  appearance  of  this  poor  lunatic  recalled, 
with  Doctor  Hofland,  a  memory  of  his  early  friend. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  before,  Doctor  ?  I've  sent 
*V>r  yon,  O,  so  many  times  !  "  The  old  man  raised 
himself  as  he  spoke,  yet  still  clinging  to  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  No  one  brought  me  word  till  now,"  replied  the 
Doctor.  "  Did  you  ever  write  to  me  before  ?  " 

"  Write  !  I've  written  a  hundred  times.  And  they 
always  said  you  got  the  letters.  But,  I  couldn't  believe 
it." 

"  How  did  you  sign  them  ?  " 

"  How  ?  "     The  question  was  not  understood. 

44  With  what  name,  I  mean  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  With  my  own  name,  Adam  Guy."  The  answer 
was  prompt  and  outspoken. 

"  Unfasten  this  chain  !  "  said  Doctor  Hofland,  sternly, 
looking  towards  Black.  The  rattle  of  its  links  had 
wounded,  that  moment,  his  ears.  The  man  drew  some 
keys  from  his  pocket,  and  stooping,  sprung  the  bolt  of 
a  padlock  that  held  the  chain  to  the  prisoner's  ankle. 

"  You  are  free  again,  Mr.  Guy."     The  Doctor  spoke 
softly,  but  with  a  meaning  that  no  ear  could  doubt. 
Free  !    Free  !    Great  God  !  "     Then  a  strange  cry 


220  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

filled  the  room,  as  the  man  started  up  and  tossed  his 
arms  wildly  about  his  head.  If  reason  had  kept  even 
partial  supremacy  until  this  time,  now  its  dethronement 
was,  alas  I  too  sadly  apparent. 

'  "  I  feared  this,"  said  Doctor  Black,  moving  quickly 
upon  his  patient,  and  endeavoring  to  seize  him. 

"  Off,  fiend  !  "  shouted  Guy,  starting  away  with  a 
look  of  fear  and  hate.  "  Off,  I  say  !  "  Then  crowding 
back  on  Doctor  Hofland,  he  added,  in  a  subdued  and 
pleading  voice  — 

"  Don't  let  him  touch  me  !  " 

"  He  shall  not  touch  you,"  was  the  assuring  answer. 

"  Wont  you  take  me  away  from  here  ?  "  Still  in 
low,  pleading  tones. 

"  If  you  will  compose  yourself.  Loud  cries  and  toss- 
ings  of  the  arms  wont  do  among  people,  you  know." 

"  I'll  be  all  that  you  ask,  Doctor.  Only  take  me  out 
of  this  horrible  prison.  They've  nearly  made  an  end 
of  me.  Flesh  and  blood  can't  stand  it  much  longer. 
I  forget  myself  sometimes.  O,  why  didn't  you  come 
sooner?  " 

He  was  beginning  to  lose  himself  again,  when  Doctor 
Hofland  said  — 

"  Get  on  your  clothes  as  quickly  as  possible:  I  have 
a  carriage  down  stairs,  and  will  take  you  right  away." 

Hurriedly  the  poor  toilette  was  made  —  it  was  not 
very  presentable — and  then,  clinging  to  the  arm  of 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  221 

Doctor  Hofland,  eager,  trembling  with  excitement,  and 
like  one  fleeing  in  terror,  Mr.  Guy  went  down  to  the 
carriage,  which  he  entered  without  an  instant's  hesita 
tion,  ejaculating  — 

"  Thank  God  I     Thank  God  !  " 

If,  in  all  his  life  before,  this  unhappy  man  had  not  ac 
knowledged  a  Divine  agency  in  human  affairs,  that  ac 
knowledgment  came  now,  and  from  the  heart.  Human 
prudence  and  human  strength  had  been  as  nothing. 
They  had  not  saved  him  from  the  worst  of  calamities  ; 
and  now,  when  succor  came  —  in  the  conscious  waning 
of  reason  —  weak  as  a  child  amid  giant  enemies,  he 
looked  upward,  and  thanked  God  for  deliverance. 

"  What  next  ?  "  asked  the  Mayor,  drawing  Doctor 
Hofland  a  little  away  from  the  carriage  door,  and  speak 
ing  in  an  undertone.  "  Where  shall  we  remove  him  ?  " 

"I  will  take  charge  of  him  for  the  present,"  answer 
ed  the  Doctor. 

"  You  don't  purpose  taking  him  to  your  house  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An  insane  man  !  Think  what  consequences  may 
follow." 

"  He  will  not  give  me  any  serious  trouble.  Still,  as 
a  matter  of  precaution,  I  would  like  a  discreet  officer 
to  remain  in  the  house  during  to-night  and  to-morrow. 
My  profession  takes  me  away  from  home  at  all  hours, 


222  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

and  while  absent,  he  might  get  restless  or  alarmed,  and 
attempt  to  get  off." 

"  Mr.  Joyce  is  at  your  service,  Doctor,"  replied  the 
Mayor. 

"  Thank  you.  With  him  at  my  right  hand,  all  will 
be  well.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  see  you  at  an  early 
hour." 

"  If  you  please,  Doctor.  This  is  a  strange  affair,  and 
must  be  well  considered." 

The  two  men,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Joyce,  now  enter 
ed  the  carriage,  and  drove  away.  During  the  ride  to 
Doctor  Hofland's,  old  Mr.  Guy  did  not  speak,  nor  show 
signs  of  uneasiness.  When  the  carriage  stopped,  he 
aroused  himself  and  asked  — 

"  Where  are  we  ?  " 

"  At  my  house,"  replied  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Oh  —  Oh  !  "  There  was  a  prolonged  tone  of  satis 
faction  in  the  almost  murmured  ejaculation  of  Mr.  Guy. 

"  Good-night,  Doctor,"  said  the  Mayor,  as  the  four 
men  stood  on  the  pavement. 

"  Good-night,  sir."  The  Mayor  took  Mr.  Joyce,  the 
policeman,  aside,  and  after  a  whispered  conference,  re- 
entered  the  carriage,  and  was  driven  away. 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Guy,  almost  sharp 
ly,  and  with  an  air  of  suspicion. 

"  The  Mayor,"  answered  Doctor  Hofland. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  223 

"  The  Mayor  !  "    Surprise  took  the  Dlace  of  suspicion. 
"  Then  he's  on  my  side  !  " 

"  He's  on  your  side,  and  against  all  your  enemies," 
was  the  Doctor's  assuring  reply. 

Again  came  the  fervent  "  Thank  God !  Thank  God  !  " 
And  with  the  words  still  murmuring  on  his  lips,  the  pre 
maturely  old  man,  a  wreck  in  body  and  mind,  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  earliest,  best,  and  truest  friend  he 
had  ever  known  ;  —  the  friend  between  whom  and  him 
self  wealth  had,  years  before,  thrown  up  a  wall  of  sep 
aration. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HE  first  concern  of  Doctor  Hofland  was 
to  ascertain,  with  all  possible  exactness 
the  mental  condition  of  his  patient.     It 
was  after  midnight,  when  he  sat  down, 
alone,  with  him,  in  a  chamber  luxuri 
antly  furnished  in  comparison  with  any 
thing  Adam  Guy  had  seen  for  over  ten 
desolate  years  ;   a  chamber  that  could 
not  fail  to  bring  back  a  vivid  remembrance  of  the  past. 
"  You  are  safe  here,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  kind 
assurance.     "  Call  this  room  your  own,  and  occupy  it 
as  long  as  you  please." 

He  gazed  earnestly  into  the  changed  face  of  his  old 
friend,  trying  to  recall  former  looks  and  features  ;  but 
the  search  baffled  him.  Adam  Guy,  if  living,  would 
not  be  over  fifty-four  years  of  age  ;  this  person  seemed 
not  less  than  threescore  and  ten.  Doubts  crept  in, 
stealthily. 

"  Call  this  my  room  —  my  room  ?  "     With  a  dumb, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  225 

bewildered  air,  the  man  let  his  eyes  wander  around  the 
apartment.  "  It's  a  long  time  since  I  called  such  a  room 
mine.  Ah,  well !  "  He  sighed  deeply,  dropped  his 
eyes  to  the  floor,  and  seemed  to  lose  himself. 

"  You  find  me  very  much  changed,  Doctor,"  he  said, 
looking  up  in  a  few  moments,  and  speaking  with  the 
quiet  composure  of  a  self-possessed  mind.  "  Would 
you  have  known  me  if  you  had  met  me  on  the  street  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

He  let  his  eyes  fall  again,  shook  his  head,  and  seemed 
to  have  troubled  thoughts. 

"  I'm  very  much  hurt  here,  Doctor  —  very  much," 
and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  forehead.  "  Very  much," 
he  repeated.  Do  you  think  I'll  ever  come  right  again  ?  " 

There  was  a  mournfulness  in  Mr.  Guy's  voice,  as  he 
put  the  question,  that  touched  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  was  asked,  in  an  assuring  voice.  "  The 
past  is  past.  You  are  free  again." 

"  But,  am  I  altogether  safe,  Doctor  ?  Wont  they 
find  me  out  here  ?  " 

"  You  have  all  the  power  of  the  law  on  your  side, 
and  woe  be  to  him  who  attempts  anything  against  you. 
Yes,  Mr.  Guy,  you  are  altogether  safe ;  that  is,  if  you 
will  be  discreet,  and  let  the  judgment  of  your  friends 
determine  what  is  best  for  the  present." 

"Discreet?      How?     What?"      The   thin   brows 

knitted  themselves.     He  looked  puzzled. 
10* 


226  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"It  is  now  late,  Mr.  Guy  —  past  midnight,"  said 
Doctor  Hofland.  "  Both  of  us  need  rest  and  sleep.  In 
the  morning  we  will  have  a  long  talk,  and  see  what  is 
best  to  be  done.  If,  as  you  say,  you  are  hurt  here  " —  and 
the  Doctor  touched  his  forehead  —  "our  first  concern 
must  be  to  cure  that  hurt.  It  can  be  done ;  but  every 
thing  will  depend  on  your  giving  yourself  up  to  me,  as 
your  physician,  and  strictly  following  the  rules  I  shall  lay 
down.  To-night  there  must  be  sleep.  Compose  your 
mind.  Try  to  forget  the  past  and  its  wrongs  in  a  spirit 
of  thankfulness  to  God  who  has  wrought  out  for  you  a 
great  deliverance  ;  and  who  will  do  for  you  still  better 
things,  if  you  will  look  to  Him,  and  trust  in  Him." 

"  I  prayed  God  to  help  me,"  said  the  poor  old  man. 
"  I  prayed  all  last  night.  I  never  prayed  before.  Do 
you  think  He  heard  me  ?  " 

"  His  ears  are  always  open  to  the  cries  of  His  children. 
Yes,  He  heard  you." 

"  And  sent  me  this  deliverance  ?  " 

"  All  good  is  from  His  hands.  Keep  that  ever  in 
your  thought,  and  so  always  look  to  Him  and  trust 
In  Him.  He  is  the  Great  Physician,  and  will  cure  the 
hurt  of  which  you  complained  just  now.  Good-night ! 
May  His  peace  be  with  you." 

The  Doctor  moved  to  retire. 

"  His  peace— -  His  peace."    The  thought  seemed  new 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  227 

to  Mr.  Guy,  as  evidenced  in  his  repetition  of  this  part 
of  Doctor  Holland's  concluding  sentence. 

"  Yes,  His  peace,  which  flows  like  a  river,"  said  the 
Doctor.  Then  added,  as  a  suggestion  came  into  his 
mind,  taking  up  a  book  as  he  spoke,  "  Let  me  read  you 
one  of  the  Psalms  of  David.  It  will  compose  your 
mind."  And  he  read  aloud  the  fifty-sixth  Psalm.  Mr. 
Guy  listened  with  an  absorbed  attention. 

"  If  sleep  does  not  come  quickly,  recall  the  words  of 
this  Psalm,  and  let  them  dwell  in  your  thoughts."  The 
Doctor  closed  the  volume,  and  repeating  his  "  good 
night,"  went  out.  In  the  passage,  near  the  chamber 
door,  he  found  Mr.  Joyce,  who  had,  by  arrangement, 
remained  within  call.  A  room  adjoining  the  one  occu 
pied  by  Mr.  Guy,  and  communicating  therewith,  was 
assigned  to  the  officer,  and  all  needed  precautions  ob 
served. 

The  night  passed  without  further  incident.  Mr.  Guy 
went  to  bed  on  the  withdrawal  of  Doctor  Hofland,  and 
was  soon  fast  asleep,  not  awaking  till  long  after  daylight. 
He  was  then  supplied  with  suitable  clothing,  and  at  his 
own  request,  a  barber  was  sent  for  to  remove  his  long 
white  beard.  There  was  considerable  change  in  him,  as 
compared  with  his  condition  on  the  night  before.  His 
eyes  had  lost  tjieir  glitter,  and  were  dull.  He  showed 
no  excitement  of  manner,  and  but  little  interest  in  things 


228  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

around  him.     The  bow,  tensely  strung  so  long,  was  now 
for  a  time  unbent. 

For  prudential  reasons,  Doctor  Hofland  thought  it 
best  to  conceal  from  his  own  family,  except  his  wife  and 
son-in-law,  the  real  name  of  the  person  he  had  received 
into  his  house.  At  an  early  hour,  he  called  on  the  Mayor. 
Both  men  had  thought,  with  much  concern,  over  the 
difficult  questions  involved  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Guy.  If 
he  were  really  the  man  he  represented  himself  to  be  — 
and  they  had  few  doubts  on  this  head  —  crime  had  been 
committed,  and  justice  must  have  way.  When  to  act 
and  how  to  act,  were  things  not  so  easily  determined. 
The  decision  was,  to  wait  for  a  brief  period  —  in  the 
meantime,  securing  for  Mr.  Guy  everything  needed  for 
his  comfort  and  restoration  to  mental  health.  Mr.  La- 
robe  was  to  be  closely  observed,  and  his  appearance  and 
movements  noted  from  day  to  day. 

Returning  home,  after  this  conference,  Doctor  Hofland 
found  his  wife  in  much  concern  about  their  guest. 

"  He  isn't  at  all  in  his  right  mind,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
can't  make  anything  out  of  him." 
•  "  Has  there  been  any  change  since  I  left  ?  " 

"  Yes." 
"Of  what  kind?" 

"  He  seems  entirely  lost.  If  you  speak  to  him,  he 
answers  vaguely. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  229 

"  Sitting  in  the  parlor,  and  as  still  as  one  asleep." 

Doctor  Hofland  went  into  the  parlor,  and  found  Mr. 
Guy,  as  his  wife  had  represented  him,  reclining  in  an 
easy  chair.  His  eyes  were  open  ;  but  there  was  no 
thought  in  them. 

"  How  are  you  now  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  in  a  cheer 
ful  voice,  as  he  drew  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  Oh  !  ah !  it's  you,  Doctor  ?  "  A  faint  gleam  of  in 
telligence  lit  up  Guy's  dull  face. 

"  Yes,  it's  me.     How  do  you  feel  now  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  Thought,  startled  from  lead 
en  sleep,  was  folding  back  its  wings  again. 

"  Yes,  I'm  Doctor  Hofland." 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  Doctor "  The  sentence  died  out  in 

partial  utterance. 

No  effort  to  arouse  Mr.  Guy  brought  him  nearer  to 
rational  consciousness  than  this ;  and  Doctor  Hofland, 
after  spending  an  hour  in  observation  and  study  of  his 
condition,  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  reason  had, 
for  the  time,  at  least,  passed  under  an  almost  total  eclipse. 
Such  being  the  case,  it  was  necessary  to  have  him  in 
charge  of  a  constant  attendant.  This  duty  was,  for  the 
day,  and  until  better  arrangements  could  be  made,  as 
signed  to  a  colored  waiter,  whose  instructions  were  on 
no  account  to  leave  him. 

From  this  time  until  two  o'clock,  Doctor  Hofland  was 
absent  among  his  patients.  On  returning  home,  he 


230  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

found  no  change  in  Mr.  Guy.  He  was  sitting  where 
he  left  him,  apparently  unconscious  of  external  things. 
Dinner  being  announced,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  taken 
to  the  table,  where  he  eat  sparingly,  finishing  his  meal 
before  the  others  were  half  done.  This  change  partial 
ly  aroused  him,  and  several  times  the  Doctor  noticed  a 
look  of  curious  inquiry  in  his  countenance,  as  he  glanc 
ed,  almost  stealthily,  from  face  to  face,  around  the  table. 
But,  after  dinner,  the  former  stupor  returned,  and  did 
not  pass  off  during  the  day. 

The  position  in  which  Doctor  Hofland  found  himself 
was  one  of  great  delicacy.  At  first,  on  reflection,  this 
course  seemed  plain : —  To  bring  the  facts  in  his  pos 
session  to  the  knowledge  of  Adam  Guy,  jr.,  and  place 
his  father  at  his  disposal,  thusrelieving  himself  from  all 
care  or  responsibility  in  the  matter.  But,  the  longer  he 
pondered  this  course,  the  more  did  objections  multiply 
themselves.  He  had  no  faith  in  the  humanity  of  Adam 
Guy,  jr.  By  inheritance,  he  had  received  from  his 
father  an  absorbing  love  of  money,  which  had  become  a 
god,  on  whose  altars  he  was  ever  ready  to  lay  the  most 
precious  things  in  sacrifice.  No  gain  could  arise  to  him 
from  his  father's  reappearance  on  the  stage  of  life.  Loss, 
in  all  probability,  would  ensue  ;  for  the  will,  by  which 
a  portion  of  the  estate  had  been  divided  to  him,  must 
fall.  In  this  view  the  Doctor  did  not  wrong  him,  when 
he  doubted  and,  hesitated.  It  would  be  the  interest  of 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  231 

Adam  Guy,  jr.  to  assume  that  the  man  claiming  to  be 
his  father  was  an  imposter ;  and,  therefore,  instead  of 
searching  for  evidence  in  favor  of  the  claim,  he  would 
most  likely  collude  with  Mr.  Larobe  for  the  production 
of  proofs  on  the  other  side.  Moreover,  if  his  father 
were  given  up  to  him  in  his  present  mental  stupor,  he 
would  be  placed  in  an  asylum,  and  might  again  come 
under  the  power  of  Mr.  Larobe  and  his  wife,  whose 
stake  in  the  case  was  highest  of  all,  and  who,  if  they 
lost  in  the  desperate  game  they  were  playing,  lost  every 
thing. 

The  more  Doctor  Hofland  dwelt  on  this  latter  view, 
the  less  inclined  was  he  to  let  the  poor  wreck  in  his 
hands  pass  beyond  all  possible  control. 

"  In  providence,"  he  said  in  his  thought,  "  the  guar 
dianship  has  been  committed  to  me ;  and,  as  things  are, 
I  cannot  see  that  it  would  be  right  to  pass  it  to  another. 
To  give  him  over  to  them  as  he  now  is,  would  be,  in 
my  opinion,  little  less  than  abandoning  a  lamb  to  the 
wolves.  He  is  in  no  condition  to  prove  his  identity,  and 
I  have  not  the  clue  by  which  the  mystery  of  this  wrong 
may  be  surely  unravelled." 

This  opinion  of  the  case  strengthened  the  longer  it 
was  dwelt  upon,  and  the  final  determination  of  Doctor 
Hofland,  after  further  conference  with  the  Mayor,  was 
to  let  everything  rest,  until  some  change  in  Mr.  Guy's 
mental  condition,  or  some  movement  on  the  part  of 


232  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larobe,  made  action  necessary.  In  the 
meantime,  the  restoration  of  Mr.  Guy's  darkened  reason 
was  to  be  the  chief  object  in  view,  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned. 

And  now  let  us  return  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larobe,  whom 
we  left  shuddering  in  the  face  of  a  dreaded  retribution. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


LL  through  the  sleepless  night  that 
followed  the  last  recorded  interview 
between  Justin  Larobe  and  his  wife, 
the  former  heard,  at  not  remote  in 
tervals,  movements  in  the  room  ad 
joining  the  one  he  occupied,  which,  to 
his  excited  imagination,  had  myste 
rious  import.  A  door  communicated 
with  this  room  ;  but  before  retiring  he  had  turned  the 
key,  which  happened  to  be  on  his  side  of  the  lock. 
Two  or  three  times  he  fancied  that  a  hand  was  laid  on 
this  door,  and  an  attempt  made  to  open  it ;  and  on 
these  occasions  he  would  rise  up  in  bed,  and  listen  with 
that  breathless  concern  which  makes  every  heart-beat 
audible  in  the  ears.  It  was  a  night  full  of  strange 
terrors.  Out  of  the  darkness  looked  upon  him  a  ma 
lign  face.  He  saw  it  with  shut  or  open  eyes,  just  the  same. 
Watching  him  from  the  covert  of  half  closed  lids,  was  a 


234  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

spirit  cruel  as  death  —  atliirst  with  an  insatiate  desire  to 
work  him  evil.     Well  did  he  know  the  face  ! 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  with  the  firot  feeble  in 
trusions  of  dull  gray  light,  the  haunting  face  withdrew. 
Rising,  almost  with  the  dawn,  Mr.  Larobe  dressed  him 
self,  and  went  down  stairs.  His  movements  had  been 
quite  noiseless.  No  sound  coming  at  this  time  from 
the  adjoining  chamber,  occupied  by  his  wife,  he  acted 
on  the  presumption  that  she  was  asleep,  and  moved 
silently  in  order  not  to  disturb  her.  Half  way  down  he 
stopped  to  listen.  Had  his  ears  deceived  him  ?  —  or 
was  that  the  rustle  of  a  dress  ?  He  stood  still,  hearken 
ing. 

"  A  mere  fancy,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  kept  on. 
Only  a  dim  light  penetrated  the  hall.  One  of  the  par 
lor  doors  stood  half  open.  Pressing  it  back  with  his 
hand,  Mr.  Larobe  entered,  and  was  near  a  window, 
which  he  designed  opening,  when  a  sound  in  the  room 
arrested  his  steps.  Turning  quickly,  he  tried  to  make 
out  some  object ;  but  the  light  was  insufficient.  A  mo 
ment  afterwards,  and  his  hand  had  thrown  a  shutter 
open,  letting  in  the  day.  In  the  effort  to  conceal  her 
self  behind  a  column,  stood  Mrs.  Larobe,  with  a  face 
like  marble  —  cold  and  changeless.  She  did  not  move, 
as  the  light  came  in. 

"  Jane  !  "  The  word  dropped  in  sudden  surprise 
from  Mr.  Larobe's  lips.  No  response  was  made.  Close 
against  the  column,  which  partly  hid  her  person,  the 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  235 

woman  continued  to  stand,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Mr. 
Larobe —  the  same  eyes  that  all  night  long  had  haunt 
ed  him. 

"  Jane ;  why  are  you  here  at  this  time  ?  "  Mr. 
Larobe  came  slowly  down  the  room.  He  spoke  with 
assumed  severity.'  She  did  not  answer,  nor  for  an  in 
stant  withdraw  her  eyes.  Something  in  their  expres 
sion  chilled  him.  On  coming  nearer,  he  saw  that  she 
was  dressed  for  going  out ;  and  that  her  bonnet  and 
cloak  were  lying  on  a  sofa. 

"  Jane  ;  there  is  one  thing  you  had  best  understand," 
said  Mr.  Larobe,  speaking  with  impressive  earnestness, 
not  severely  as  just  before  —  and  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
appealed  to  reason.  "  Unless  we  act  in  concert,  all  is 
lost.  There  must  be  no  unconsidered  step.  A  false 
movement,  and  we  are  at  the  end.  It  is  too  late  now 
for  retrograde  action.  Everything  done,  for  good  or 
ill,  will  abide.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to  be  circum 
spect.  Trust  in  me  a  little  longer.  My  mind  is  calm 
er  than  yours.  Imminent  danger  does  not  unnerve  me, 
as  it  unnerves  you.  The  cool  head,  the  alert  will,  the 
self-reliance  that  cannot  be  overthrown  —  in  these  lie 
our  only  hope." 

"  It  is  too  late,  sir  !  "  she  answered,-  in  a  dull,  per 
verse  way,  as  she  moved  from  the  column  behind  which 
she  had  been  standing.  "  Not  the  cool  head,  but  the 
fiery  heart,  now.  This  !  " —  half  unsheathing  a  long 


236  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

dirk — "Not  that!" — touching  significantly  her  fore 
head.  Mr.  Larobe  shuddered. 

"  Dead  men,"  she  added,  "  tell  no  tales.  If  you 
could  have  been  made  to  understand  the  value  of  that 
saying  years  ago,  our  feet  would  have  been  on  a  rock." 

Turning  away,  Mrs.  Larobe  went  to  the  sofa  on 
which  her  bonnet  and  shawl  were  lying,  and  catching 
them  up  in  a  resolute  manner,  commenced  putting  them 
on. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  was  demanded,  in  a  tone 
of  authority. 

"  To  do  my  own  will,"  replied  Mrs.  Larobe,  with 
undisguised  contempt,  yet  fiercely,  as  one  who  meant 
to  have  her  way. 

"  I  warned  you  last  night,  Jane  !  " 

"  You  !  Coward  !  A  woman  means  to  shame  you  !  " 
The  words  were  flung  at  him  in  bitter  scorn. 

She  had  fastened  her  cloak,  and  was  now  tying  her 
bonnet  strings.  The  stronger  light  that  was  coming 
in  through  the  window,  fell  upon  her  face.  Its  cold 
impassiveness  was  gone.  Flashes  of  insane  fire  shot 
from  her  eyes  —  cruel  resolution  dwelt  on  her  firm  lips. 
From  an  almost  insensate  image,  she  had  become  trans 
formed  to  a  fiend. 

"  There  are  some  things  more  to  be  dreaded,  Justin 
Larobe,  than  a  conviction  of  murder,"  she  said.  "  More 
fearful  risks  attend  on  his  life  than  on  his  death.  Place 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  237 

the  seal  of  eternal  silence  on  his  lips,  and  you  remove  a 
witness  whose  testimony  is  destruction.  The  dead 
body  of  a  poor  lunatic  is  voiceless.  Let  him  die,  and 
his  secret  with  him  !  As  for  after  consequences,  we  can 
meet  them  as  they  come ;  the  worst  having  been  es 
caped." 

She  was  moving  towards  the  hall  while  she  spoke, 
with  a  determined  step,  evidently  intending  to  leave 
the  house  ;  but  Mr.  Larobe  started  forward,  and  gain 
ing  the  door,  stood  directly  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  must  not  be,  Jane  !  "  He  spoke  with  stern  res 
olution  in  his  manner.  "  You  are  beside  yourself!  " 

"  Hinder  me  at  your  peril !  "  cried  Mrs.  Larobe, 
raising  her  hand  quickly,  and  dashing  it  forward.  The 
gleam  of  a  dirk  knife  caught  Mr.  Larobe's  eyes,  and  he 
leaped  backward  in  time  to  avoid  the  blow  which  had 
been  aimed  at  him.  In  the  fright  and  irresolution  that 
followed,  Mrs.  Larobe  nearly  succeeded  in  getting  off; 
but,  he  recovered  himself  in  time  to  grapple  with  her 
before  she  passed  the  vestibule  door  and  wrest  the  in 
strument  of  murder  from  her  hand.  In  the  struggle, 
she  lost  all  self-control,  and  filled  the  house  with  wild 
hysteric  screams,  arousing  the  servants  and  children, 
who  came  running  down  with  frightened  faces,  half 
dressed,  or  in  their  night-clothes.  Their  presence  had 
the  effect  to  allay,  in  a  degree,  the  mad  excitement  of 
Mrs.  Larobe. 


238  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Go  for  Doctor  Holbrook,"  said  Mr.  Larobe,  speak 
ing  to  one  of  the  servants,  "  and  say  that  I  wish  to  see 
him  immediately." 

Mrs.  Larobe  did  not  object.  Even  in  her  blind  pas 
sion,  she  saw  that  it  would  be  safest  to  let  the  mystery 
of  this  scene  find  explanation  in  supposed  mental  de 
rangement,  in  order  to  draw  conjecture  as  far  from  the 
truth  as  possible.  So,  she  permitted  herself  to  be  taken 
to  her  chamber.  Into  this  apartment,  Mr.  Larobe  did 
not  suffer  either  the  servants  or  children  to  intrude  ; 
but,  shutting  them  on  the  outside,  attempted  to  deal 
with  the  case  alone. 

Pale,  panting,  quivering  in  every  nerve,  Mrs.  Larobe 
sat  down,  and  lifting  her  wild  eyes  to  the  face  of  the 
man  she  had  no  legal  or  moral  right  to  call  her  husband, 
demanded  of  him  his  purpose  in  ordering  the  attendance 
of  their  physician. 

"  You  can  see  him  or  not,  according  to  your  own 
good  pleasure,-"  was  his  coldly  spoken  answer. 

"  I  shall  not  see  him,"  she  replied. 

"  As  you  will.  But,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I 
would  feign  sickness.  I  covered  your  wicked  attempt 
on  my  life,  by  ordering  the  physician.  He  will  be  here, 
I  doubt  not,  in  less  than  twenty  minutes.  Some  good 
reason  must  appear  for  the  hurried  summons.  Invent 
one  to  suit  yourself — but  see  him ;  that  is  my  advice." 

"What  will  you  say  to  him?  "  demanded  Mrs.  La- 
robe. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  239 

"  I  have  not  come  to  a  decision  yet,"  was  evasively 
answered.  She  looked  at  him  with  sharp  suspicion. 

"  One  thing,  madam,  is  clear,"  said  Mr.  Larobe, 
speaking  now  with  a  stern  severity  of  tone,  "  from 
what  has  occurred  this  morning,  it  is  clear  that  you  are 
not  a  safe  person  to  be  at  large." 

He  paused  to  observe  the  effect  of  this  declaration, 
made  almost  without  thought.  There  was  little  appar 
ent  change  in  Mrs.  Larobe.  Almost  the  only  notice 
able  response  was  a  repressed  manner,  as  if  she  felt  con 
scious  of  a  superior  force. 

"  Life  is  too  precious  a  thing  to  be  left  unguarded." 
He  paused  again,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"  You  have  grown  desperate,  and  would  take  the 
life  that  stands  in  your  way  Knowing  this,  my  duty  is 
plain." 

"  What !  "  She  threw  out  the  word  with  a  quick, 
yet  half  repressed  impulse. 

"  I  would  be  guilty  before  the  law,  if  I  did  not  limit 
your  power  to  do  harm." 

A  long  shivering  'sigh  was  the  only  response. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  chamber  door.  Mr.  La- 
robe  crossed  the  room,  and  partly  opening  the  door,  re 
ceived  a  letter  which  the  hand  of  a  servant  passed  in. 
His  name  was  on  the  envelope.  Opening  it  he  read  — 

"  JUSTIN  LAROBE,  ESQ.  — SIR  :  Last  night  after 
eleven  o'clock,  the  Mayor  of  the  city,  accompanied  by 


240  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Doctor  Hofland  and  a  police  officer,  came  to  my  house, 
and  removed  the  old  man.  I  give  you  the  earliest  pos 
sible  notice  of  the  fact.  I'm  afraid  there  is  trouble  in 
the  wind.  I  hope  you  have  not  deceived  me  as  to  this 
person's  identity. 

"  Yours,  &c.,  BLACK." 

"  What  is  it  ?  Who  is  it  from  ?  "  Mrs.  Larobe 
was  questioning  eagerly  before  the  contents  of  the  let 
ter  were  half  comprehended.  Mr.  Larobe,  after  twice 
reading  the  commnuication,  handed  it  to  his  compan 
ion,  and  sitting  down,  covered  his  face.  The  long 
dreaded  catastrophe  was  knocking  at  his  door. 

"  Fool !  Fool !  Fool !  "  Mr.  Larobe  started  from 
his  shrinking  posture.  The  word  was  sent  into  his  ears 
in  a  mad,  despairing  cry,  the  voice  rising  with  each  rep 
etition. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Jane,  keep  down  this  excite 
ment  !  All  is  not  yet  lost ;  but,  all  will  be,  unless 
complete  self-possession  is  restored.  As  things  are,  so 
must  we  take  them  and  deal  with  them.  Suddenly  we 
come  into  new  peril.  Shall  we  sit  down,  like  fright 
ened  children,  or  dumb  animals,  and  let  destruction 
overwhelm  us ;  or  shall  we  look  right  and  left,  upwards 
and  downwards,  for  a  way  of  escape  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  escape,"  Mrs.  Larobe  answered,  her 
face  a  dead  blank. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  241 

"  When  the  ship  is  sinking,  who  escape  ?  "  said  the 
other.  "  Those  who  fold  their  arms  in  despair,  or 
those  who  are  on  the  look-out  for  means  of  safety  ? 
The  courageous,  the  hopeful,  the  alert  —  they  come 
out  of  danger,  while  the  doubting  perish.  Jane,  if 
there  ever  was  a  time  when  both  you  and  I  needed  to 
be  cool,  self-possessed,  and  united  in  action,  it  is  now. 
There  is  a  magazine  under  us,  and  all  the  steps  we  take 
are  on  grains  of  powder  that  friction  may  ignite. 
Even  caution  may  not  save  us ;  but,  blind  dashing 
about  from  side  to  side,  and  heedless  stampings  of  the 
feet,  can  only  make  destruction  sure.  Sit  down,  and 
listen." 

Mrs.  Larobe  sat  down,  and  looked  with  a  kind  of 
passive  incredulity  at  her  companion,  who  went  on  — 

"  Jane,  there  is  one  thing  to  be  remembered.  Proof 
of  identity  in  a  case  like  this  will  be  difficult.  Almost 
everything  will  rest  with  Du  Pontz ;  and  his  safety  is 
involved  as  well  as  our  own.  The  death  and  burial  of 
Mr.  Guy  are  things  of  record  and  public  notoriety. 
This  man  will  have  the  disability  of  supposed  impos 
ture  to  contend  with  from  the  start.  Adam  will  deny 
and  contest  his  claim  from  the  very  outset ;  for,  if 
made  good,  it  will  dispossess  him  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  and  the  interest  on  that  sum  for  ten  years.  My 
standing  in  the  community,  and  yours,  also,  will  have 

weight.     The  case  will  present  unpleasant  and  huinili- 
11 


242  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

ating  features  ;  but,  it  cannot  go  against  us,  if  we  de 
fend  it  bravely  and  with  fair-fronted  innocence." 

Mrs.  Larobe  made  no  reply.  In  the  pause  that  fol 
lowed,  came  another  rap  on  the  door. 

"  What  is  wanted  ?  "  called  Mr.  Larobe. 

"  The  Doctor  has  come." 

"  Very  well.     Say  that  I  will  be  down  in  a  moment." 

The  servant  retired.  Mr.  Larobe  stood  in  thought 
for  some  time. 

"  How  do  you  propose  meeting  the  case,  Jane  ?  " 

"I  do  not  intend  seeing  the  Doctor,"  was  replied. 
"  Make  what  excuse  you  please.  Anything  to  suit 
yourself.  I  am  indifferent.  You  can  have  me  put  in 
the  insane  hospital,  if  that  please  your  fancy.  Perhaps, 
as  things  now  stand,  this  course  would  be  prudent." 

Mrs.  Larobe  spoke  in  a  dead  level  tone.  The  per 
plexed  lawyer  looked  at  her  searchingly,  but  tried  in 
vain  to  read  her  state.  Was  the  last  suggestion  made 
in  irony,  or  from  a  latent  conviction  that  there  might 
be  safety  in  this  direction?  As  Mr.  Larobe  went 
slowly  down  stairs,  he  pondered  this  view  of  the  case. 

"  Good  morning,  Doctor,"  he  said,  in  an  assumed 
cheerful  voice,  as  he  met  the  young  physician.  "  You 
were  rather  hastily  sent  for,  in  a  moment  of  needless 
fright.  Mrs.  Larobe  was  up  rather  earlier  than  usual 
—  having  had  a  sleepless  night  from  neuralgia  —  and 
in  going  down  stairs,  slipped  and  fell.  In  her  fright. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  243 

she  screamed  out,  and  alarmed  the  family  ;  and  you 
were  sent  for  in  the  confusion  that  ensued.  Fortunate 
ly,  no  hurt  was  sustained.  She  is  now  sleeping,  and  it 
will  be  best  not  to  disturb  her." 

"  You  think  there  was  no  injury  ?  "  The  Doctor's 
suspicious  eyes  gave  Mr.  Larobe  an  uneasy  sensation. 

44  None  whatever,"  he  returned,  "  beyond  a  slight 
bruise  on  the  arm." 

44  Did  the  neuralgic  pain  continue  ?  " 

44  No.  The  shock  received  in  falling,  dispersed  the 
pain  entirely.  Sleep  naturally  followed  relief.  This 
is  a  new  remedy,  Doctor,  not  down  in  the  books." 
And  Mr.  Larobe  affected  a  humorous  state  of  mind. 
44  But  one  hardly  safe  in  application." 

44  Hardly,"  answered  the  Doctor,  but  without  res 
ponding  to  the  smile  Larobe  had  forced  into  his  troubled 
countenance.  44 1  will  leave  a  prescription,  the  medi 
cine  to  be  taken  when  she  awakes.  There  may  have 
been  an  internal  shock,  the  effect  of  which  has  not  yet 
become  apparent." 

44  Do  so,  if  you  please,  Doctor.  I  will  send  for  the 
medicine  immediately,  and  see  that  she  has  it  as  soon  as 
this  sleep  passes." 

Doctor  Holbrook  wrote  a  prescription,  and  then  went 
away.  Something  in  his  manner  left  an  uneasy  feeling 
with  Mr.  Larobe.  He  did  not  remember,  until  after 
the  physician's  departure,  that  he  was  son-in-law  to 


244  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

Doctor  Hofland.  When  this  recollection  came,  it  was 
as  if  water  had  fallen  on  his  head  and  trickled  coldly  to 
his  feet. 

*'  How  the  path  narrows  !  "  he  said,  writh  a  shiver* 
and  sat  down  alone  to  think.  But,  he  did  not  long  re 
main  alone.  There  was  a  foot-sound  on  the  floor,  and 
looking  up,  he  met  the  cold,  hard  face  of  Mrs.  Larobe 
—  hard  with  the  congelation  of  bad  passions. 

"Where  is  the  Doctor  ?  "  She  glanced  around  the 
room. 

"  Gone." 

"  Gone  !     What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  That  you  were  asleep." 

"  Ah  !  asleep  ?  God  knows  if  I  shall  ever  sleep  again  ! 
It  were  better  to  be  dead,  than  to  live  in  this  terror. 
Asleep  !  Ha  !  ha  !  You  are  quick  witted,  Mr.  Larobe, 
quick  witted  !  Game  to  the  last  —  ha  !  ha  !  That  was 
handsomely  done  !  Asleep,  but  somnambulic  !  Don't 
look  at  me  with  such  a  scowl.  I  must  laugh  a  little. 
And  so  we  are  rid  of  the  Doctor.  But,  do  you  know 
who  he  is,  Justin  ?  " 

"Yes." 

kt  Doctor  Hofland's  son-in-law  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  Devil's  net  has  many  meshes.  I  doubt  if  we  get 
free,  Justin.  Reynard,  with  all  his  turnings  and  doub 
lings  is  generally  caught  at  last.  This  is  a  hard  way  to 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  245 

walk  in  —  sore-footed  and  weary-limbed,  I  can  go  no 
farther.  Long  and  long  ago  our  feet  departed  from 
smooth  and  level  roads,  and  ever  since  sharp  stones 
have  cut,  steep  hills  wearied,  and  miry  sloughs  exhausted 
the  strength.  And  now,  as  I  look  onward,  I  see  stonier 
ways  and  steeper  hills,  and  blacker  pools,  down  into 
which  we  must  sink  and  be  lost.  Let  us  end  all  this, 
Justin."  . 

Her  voice  sunk  into  a  calm,  persuasive  tone. 

"  Let  us  put  the  baying  hounds  forever  off  of  our 
track.  What  if,  in  the  fierce  struggle  for  all  we  hold 
dear  in  life,  that  is  now  coming  upon  us,  we  are  victors  ? 
Will  not  even  victory  be  defeat  ?  What  will  be  left 
worth  living  for  ?  I  can  see  nothing  —  nothing.  Tar 
nished  honor  —  shattered  fortune,  most  likely  —  social 
ostracism.  No  —  no  —  no' !  I  am  not  now  strong 

O 

enough  to  meet  all  this.  I  want  rest  and  peace  —  rest 
and  peace,  and  where  shall  I  find  them  but  in  — "  She 
paused,  looking  earnestly  at  Mr.  Larobe,  reading  the 
expression  of  his  face.  "  The  grave  ? "  she  added, 
speaking  the  words  in  a  rising  instead  of  a  falling  in 
flection. 

Mrs.  Larobe  shut  her  lips  tightly,  and  with  an  erect 
position  of  her  body,  awaited  an  answer.  It  came  in 
these  words  — 

u  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,  Jane.  I  have 
still  manhood  enough  left  for  a  strife  with  fate  ;  and  I 


246  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

will  battle,  bold-fronted,  to  the  last.     If  you  can  stand 
up  by  my  side,  well ;  if  not  — " 

The  sentence  was  left  unfinished,  but  his  meaning 
was  clear.  A  little  while  they  stood  opposite  to  each 
other,  in  a  mutual  effort  to  penetrate  the  veil  that  hid 
interior  thoughts  and  purpose.  Mrs.  Larobe  moved 
first.  Slowly  turning,  but  without  remark,  she  went 
into  the  hall,  and  ascended  to  her  room.  Mr.  Larobe 
did  not  follow  her.  It  was  impressed  on  his  mind,  that 
she  would  act  in  the  line  of  her  intimation  ;  and  he 
was  not  wrong.  At  the  breakfast  table  they  met  again. 
She  had  the  cold,  stony  look  he  had  noticed  earlier  in 
the  morning.  The  children  observed  her  with  strange, 
questioning  eyes ;  and  Blanche,  the  simple-minded  girl, 
left  her  place  two  or  three  times  during  the  meal,  and 
putting  an  arm  around  her  mother's  neck,  said  plaintive- 

iy- 

"  Don't  look  so,  ma.     It  hurts  me." 

At  dinner  time  they  met  again.  The  face  of  Mrs. 
Larobe  was  colder,  stonier,  and  more  unreadable. 
Neither  was  disposed  to  be  communicative. 

At  early  twilight  they  met  again  ;  but  now  it  was  as 
the  dead  and  living  meet.  Another  act  in  this  life- 
tragedy  is  over,  and  as  the  curtain  falls,  you  see  the  pulse 
less  body  of  Mrs.  Larobe,  lying  upon  a  sofa,  in  her  own 
chamber,  where  it  had  been  lying  for  an  hour.  As  to 
the  cause  and  manner  of  this  death,  we  will  not  curious- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  247 

ly  inquire.  Enough,  that  life's  fitful  fever  was  over, 
and  that  she  slept  her  mortal  sleep.  •  Of  the  dreams  that 
came  inthis  sleep,  we  have  no  revelation ;  and  so,  the 
curtain  that  fell,  as  the  act  closed,  must  rise  on  other 
scenes. 


H^oT^C^: 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


WO  months  have  passed.  Mr.  Guy 
is  still  at  the  house  of  Doctor  Hofland, 
but  the  secret  of  his  presence  there 
has  not  transpired.  The  sudden  death 
of  Mrs.  Larobe  gave  rise  to  many 
stories,  some  of  them  so  near  the  truth, 
with  all  its  strange  and  improbable 
features,  that  sensible  people  rejected 
them  as  the  baldest  kind  of  inventions. 

Contrary  to  expectation,  Mr.  Guy  did  not  rally  from 
the  mental  torpor  into  which  he  fell  after  his  prison 
door  was  opened  and  his  fetters  stricken  off.  The  re 
laxed  fibres  of  the  overbent  bow,  did  not  contract  and 
toughen  again.  A  harmless,  quiet,  dreaming  old  man, 
he  would  sit  for  hours  in  his  room,  or  with  the  family, 
not  a  thought  seeming  to  stir  the  external  surface  ot 
his  mind.  The  book  of  his  past  life  was  shut,  or  the 
writing  therein  effaced.  Memory  was  a  blank.  Some 
times,  as  the  inner  man  looked  out  into  the  world  of 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  249 

external  things,  and  curiosity  stirred  as  in  a  child,  he 
would  ask  the  name  of  some  common  thing,  as  a  knife, 
a  spoon  or  a  chair,  and  repeat  it  over,  trying  to  fix  the 
answer  in  his  thought.  •  Observing  him  closely  from, 
day  to  day,  Doctor  Hofland  saw  that  he  was  beginning 
to  gather  up  a  few  shreds  of  knowledge,  and  that  the 
possession  of  these  was  interesting  him,  and  creating  a 
hunger  for  further  acquirements.  Very,  very  slow  was 
the  progress  ;  but  still  there  was  progress.  This  fact, 
when  clearly  seen  by  Doctor  Hofland,  determined  his 
future  course.  He  recognized  a  Providence  in  the  series 

O 

of  events  which  had  placed  Mr.  Guy  in  his  hands,  and 
so  far  as  his  agency  for  good  towards  the  now  helpless 
imbecile  would  go,  it  must  be  freely  given.  The  secret 
of  his  identity  rested  with  himself  -and  the  Mayor,  and, 
for  the  present,  would  rest  there. 

Very  closely  had  Doctor  Hofland  studied  the  charac 
ter  of  Mr.  Ewbank,  and  that  of  his  wife.  Soon  after 
Mr.  Guy  came  into  his  house,  he  had  conceived  the 
plan  of  giving  him  into  the  charge  of  his  daughter  and 
her  husband  ;  and  with  this  in  view,  he  had  gone  nearer 
to  them,  and  made  observation  at  all  points.  The  more 
he  saw,  and  the  deeper  he  reflected,  the  stronger  was 
his  conviction  that,  with  them,  Mr.  Guy  would  be  in 
the  best  attainable  condition.  The  question  as  to 
whether  it  were  advisable  or  not,  to  let  them  into  the 

grave  secret  of  his  personality,  or  leave  it  for  time  and 
11* 


250  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

circumstances  to  discover,  was  for  a  long  time  debated. 
He  had  them  frequently  at  his  house,  where  they  saw 
Mr.  Guy,  and  became  much  interested  in  him.  The  case 
presented  many  novel  features  to  Mr.  Ewbank,  and  he 
thought  of,  and  talked  of  it  with  Doctor  Hofland,  a 
great  deal.  When,  at  last,  the  Doctor  suggested  his 
taking  charge  of  the  case,  with  a  view  to  drawing  forth 
the  slumbering  faculties  and  educating  them  anew,  the 
proposition  was  not  unfavorably  received.  Mrs.  Ewbank 
had  been  interested  in  him  from  the  first,  and  he  had 
responded  in  a  pleased  way  to  her  attentions.  The 
pecuniary  consideration,  which  Doctor  Hofland  felt 
justified  in  offering,  was  in  itself  so  liberal,  that  taking 
the  limited  means  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  into  con 
sideration,  it  offered"  a  motive  not  to  be  disregarded. 

"  I  have  heard,  or  read,  of  cases  resembling  this," 
said  Mr.  Ewbank,  in  talking  over  the  subject  with  Doc 
tor  Hofland,  "  but  always  thought  them  exaggerated. 
Standing  face  to  face  with  a  mental  phenomenon  so  very 
remarkable,  I  confess  to  being  deeply  interested.  Mem 
ory  is  completely  veiled.  He  is  like  one  newly  born, 
with  the  pages  of  his  spirit  yet  unwritten  upon,  and  like 
a  child  in  the  simple  innocence  of  ignorance.  He  is  not 
insane  —  nor  idiotic  —  but  with  the  undeveloped  mind 
of  a  child.  He  must  be  taught  and  led.  Have  you 
found  him  always  docile  ?  " 

"  Always,"  replied  the  Doctor. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  251 

t 

"  And  gradually  gaining  interest  in  things  around 
him  ?  " 

"  Gradually,  but  very  slowly." 

"  What  do  medical  books  say  in  regard  to  these  cases. 
Memory  is  suddenly  restored,  I  think  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  usual  result.  Suddenly  the  veil  is  rent, 
and  the  past  revived." 

44  Do  you  know  the  particulars  of  Mr.  Elliot's  former 
life  ?  "  (Elliot  was  the  name  by  which  Mr.  Guy  was 
called  in  Doctor  Hofland's  family,  and  he  accepted  it  as 
a  true  name,  just  as  he  did  that  of  a  chair  or  a  door.) 

44  Something  of  them.  But,  as  I  have  intimated  be 
fore,  there  are  circumstances  which  make  it  necessary 
to  let  former  things,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  lie  buried 
for  the  present.  I  can  only  say,  that  the  righting  of 
great  wrongs  depends  on  his  being  once  more  clothed 
and  in  his  true  mind  ;  and  that  if  you  can  aid  in  the 
work,  you  will  have  done  what  must  prove  to  you  a 
life-long  satisfaction." 

44 1  try  to  hold  myself  ready  for  all  good  work,  Doc 
tor  ;  and,  somehow,  my  heart  goes  forth  towards  this, 
with  a  living  desire.  When  I  spoke  of  his  former  life, 
it  had  more  reference  to  his  interior  than  to  his  exterior 
state.  Was  he  a  selfish,  sordid,  worldly  man  ;  or,  gen 
erous  and  humane?  Did  he  live  only  for  himself;  or, 
was  others'  good  kept  in  his  regard  ?  " 


262  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

r 

"  He  was  selfish,  sordid,  worldly  —  seeking  no  good 
but  his  own." 

Mr.  Ewbank  looked  disappointed. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  it  was  different,"  he  said. 

"  He  lived  only  for  himself.  Even  natural  feeling 
seemed  dead  in  his  heart,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  could 
almost  wish  the  past  never  restored,  if  with  the  restora 
tion  his  former  life  returned.  Ah  !  if  he  could,  as  an 
innocent  child,  under  better  auspices,  grow  up  to  reason 
ing  manhood.  If  tender  and  holy  affections  could  be 
so  ..stored  up  in  his  forming  mental  states,  that  in  a 
second  manhood  he  might  be  saved  by  their  influence. 
My  fear,  Mr.  Ewbank,  is,  that  when  memory  comes 
back,  and  old  habits  of  feeling  and  thought  revive,  he 
will  be  the  hard,  selfish  man  of  old.  But  He,  without 
whom  a  sparrow  falls  not,  holds  him  in  the  hollow  of 
His  hand ;  and  I  have  faith  in  the  good  to  come  from 
the  great  suffering  through  which  he  has  been  led,  and 
now  given,  as  a  passive  child,  into  our  care." 

"Was  he  religious  in  early  life?"  asked  Mr.  Ew 
bank. 

"  No." 

"  ftave  you  any  knowledge  of  his  childhood?  " 

"  Very  little.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  childhood,  how 
ever.  A  few  times  I  heard  him  make  reference  thereto, 
and  it  was,  generally,  coupled  with  a  sneer  at  bigots  and 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWAJtDS.  253 

hypocrites.  With  these  he  classed  the  majority  of  reli 
gious  people." 

"  One  thing  is  plain,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank.  "  The  first 
and  greatest  work  is,  to  teach  him  that  there  is  a  God, 
who  loves  him  and  cares  for  him  —  a  God  who  is  ever 
present,  though  unseen,  and  watching  over  him  for 
good.  If  this  idea  can  be  fixed  among  the  first  things 
that  find  entrance  into  his  mind,  so  as  to  be  woven  in 
with  all  that  follows,  we  may  sow  precious  seed  in  the 
ground  of  this  new  childhood ;  seed  that  may  bear 
fruit  even  in  the  old  manhood,  if  it  returns." 

"  Ah,  sir  !  There  is  a  great  work  here;  If  you  are 
equal  to  the  task,  a  human  soul  in  imminent  peril  may 
be  saved."  Doctor  Hofland  spoke  with  much  feeling. 
"  It  looks  as  if  in  you,  God  has  provided  for  the  case  of 
this  man." 

"  I  cannot  say  how  that  may  be,"  answered  Mr. 
Ewbank.  "  What  seems  right  to  be  done,  in  the 
present,  I  hold  it  my  duty  to  do  —  and  it  seems  right 
that  I  should  take  charge  of  Mr.  Elliot." 

"  You  have  talked  it  over  with  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  does  she  feel  about  it? " 

"•As  I  do.  Something  in  Mr.  Elliot  has  interested 
her  from  the  beginning ;  and  you  have  seen  how  like  a 
pleased  child  he  acts  whenever  she  comes  here.  If  she 


254  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

were  to  ask  him  to  go  home  with  her,  I  am  sure  ho 
would  answer  yes." 

"  The  way  seems  plain,  Mr.  Ewbank." 

"  It  does." 

"  And  you  will  walk  therein  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

As  Mr.  Ewbank  had  supposed,  the  invitation  extend 
ed  to  Mr.  Elliot  (as  we  will  now  call  him)  by  his  wife, 
was  accepted  with  manifestations  of  delight.  He  was 
all  eager  for  the  visit,  and  entered  the  carriage  that  was 
to  convey  him  to  the  house  of  his  daughter  without  a 
shade  of  suspicion  crossing  his  mind.  Once  there,  un 
der  all  the  tender  care  and  watchful  solicitude  with 
which  he  was  regarded  —  springing  in  the  case  of  Mrs- 
Ewbank  from  an  impulse  that  she  could  not  explain,  and 
in  the  case  of  her  husband,  from  high  moral  and  reli 
gious  principle  —  Mr.  Elliot  seemed  to  have  no  thought 
of  going  away.  He  remembered  Doctor  Hofland  and 
his  family ;  but  more  as  one  remembers  a  vivid  dream 
—  to  be  dwelt  upon,  but  not  restored  in  actual  experi 
ence. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  were  not  now  in  that  poor 
dwelling  where  Doctor  Hofland  found  them  on  that 

o 

cold  winter  evening  when  the  child  Esther  called  for 
him  to  go  and  visit  little  dying  Theo.  They  had  re 
moved  to  a  larger  and  pleasanter  house,  farther  in  the 
western  portion  of  the  city ;  the  income  of  Mr.  Ewbank 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  25.* 

from  pupils,  justifying  the  increased  expense.  Mr 
Ewbank's  health  was  steadily  improving.  From  the 
time  that  Doctor  Hofland  arrested  the  progress  of  a 
disease  that  seemed  rapidly  bearing  him  away,  there 
had  been  a  steady  accumulation  of  vital  power,  and 
now  he  was  strong  for  his  work  as  well  in  body  as  in 
mind. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  a  pleasant  June  day  that 
Mr.  Elliot  found  himself  in  the  home  of  his  new  friends. 
For  a  little  while,  Esther  and  Jasper,  the  children  of 
Mrs.  Ewbank,  were  shy  of  the  strange  old  man,  who 
looked  at  them  in  such  a  curious  way  —  "Just  as  a 
baby  looks,"  Esther  said.  But  they  were  soon  drawn 
towards  him,  and  mutual  good  feeling  established. 
Before  the  afternoon  had  gone,  they  were  so  much  in 
terested  in  their  visitor,  and  he  in  them,  that,  on  a  sug 
gestion  being  made  to  Mr.  Elliot  about  his  returning 
home  to  Doctor  Hofland's,  a  joint  demurrer  was  prompt 
ly  entered. 

"  Why  can't  he  stay  here  all  night  ?  "  asked  little 
Jasper. 

"  That  might  not  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Elliot,"  replied 
Mrs.  Ewbank. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  agreeable.  Wont  it,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  " 
said  the  child. 

"  I  like  it  best  here,"  he  answered. 


256  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  that  is  so,  we  shall  be  happy  to  have 
you  remain,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank,  in  a  pleasant  voice. 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  he  should  stay  all  night. 

During  the  two  months  in  which  he  remained  with 
Doctor  Hofland,  much  time  and  care  had  been  given 
by  each  member  of  the  family  to  his  peculiar  mental 
needs,  and  pains  had  been  taken  to  lead  his  mind  as 
much  as  possible  into  that  knowledge  of  things  which 
had  been  so  strangely  lost.  The  names  and  use  of 
most  common  articles  by  which  he  was  surrounded, 
had  been  acquired,  and  he  had  not  only  learned  his  al 
phabet  anew,  but  was  beginning  to  unite  letters  into 
words.  Thus,  a  fair  commencement  had  been  made. 
The  children  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  were  not  very 
liberally  supplied  with  books  and  playthings  ;  but,  they 
had  enough  to  afford  interest  and  amusement  to  Mr. 
Elliot  during  the  whole  afternoon.  He  was  attracted 
by  pictures,  and  listened  with  all  the  pleased  attention  of 
a  child  to  the  explanations  that  were  given  by  Esther. 
A  box  of  building  blocks  afforded  him  an  hour's  em 
ployment  ;  and  when  he  had  constructed,  by  their  aid, 
some  architectural  form,  he  would  gaze  upon  it  with  an 
expression  of  childish  satisfaction  not  unmixed  with 
wonder.  Many  times,  during  this  first  afternoon  of  his 
presence  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  Ewbank,  did  she  pause 
in  her  work  to  look  at  him,  and  always  with  an  irrepres 
sible  yearning  in  her  heart.  Something  beyond  his 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  257 

mere  helplessness  touched  her.  What  it  was  she  did 
not  know,  or  even  try  to  discover.  It  was,  with  her, 
one  of  those  intruding  mysteries  of  the  soul,  that  lie  out 
of  the  reach  of  thought  or  experience. 

In  the  evening,  when  Jasper's  bed-time  came  —  he 
was  five  years  old  —  he  retired  with  his  mother,  and 
after  being  undressed,  came  back  and  knelt  down  by 
his  father,  to  say  his  nightly  prayer.  With  small 
hands  laid  together,  face  uplifted,  and  eyes  shut,  softly, 
the  child  repeated,  "  Our  Father."  The  look  of  sur 
prise,  shaded  with  reverence,  that  fell  on  the  counte 
nance  of  Mr.  Elliot,  did  not  escape  Mr.  Ewbank.  As 
Jasper  arose  from  his  knees  and  went  out  with  his 
mother,  after  giving  to  all  around  his  good  night  kiss, 
the  old  man  drooped  his  eyes  to  the  floor  and  sat  like 
one  lost  in  a  dreaming  reverie. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  asked,  speaking  in  a  hushed 
voice,  and  with  an  impression  of  mystery  in  his  face,  as 
he  looked  up  at  Mr.  Ewbank. 

"  Jasper  was  saying  his  prayers." 

But  Mr.  Elliot  was  not  enlightened. 

O 

"  He  was  praying  to  God,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank,  point 
ing  upwards.  "  To  God  who  made  us  all,  and  who 
loves  us  and  takes  care  of  us." 

"  Did  he  make  me  ?  " 

"  O  yes.     He  made  you  and  me,  and  every  living 


258  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

soul.  And  lie  loves  you  and  cares  for  you,  just  as  he 
loves  and  cares  for  all  his  children." 

"Is  he  my  father?  Jasper  said,  Our  Father  in 
Heaven.  Where  is  Heaven  ?  " 

"  Heaven  is  where  God  is,  and  where  good  angels 
dwell  with  him  j  and  God  is  your  father  and  my  fath 
er,  and  the  father  of  us  all." 

Mr.  Elliot  looked  down  at  the  floor  again.  These 
things  were  almost  too  much  for  him.  They  crowded 
his  feebly  acting  thoughts.  He  did  not  speak  for  sever 
al  minutes,  and  Mr.  Ewbank  waited  for  his  mind  to  fix 
itself  on  some  definite  idea.  At  last  he  said,  with  a  sigh 
that  expressed  a  state  of  relief,  after  effort  — 

"  My  father,  and  he  loves  me  ?  " 

The  voice  trembled  just  a  little  —  trembled  with  feel 
ing.  The  heart  of  Mr.  Ewbank  felt  a  thrill  of  pleas 
ure.  Just  what  he  desired  had  taken  place. 

44  Yes,  your  father,  and  he  loves  you,"  —  giving  back 
the  thought  in  slowly  spoken,  emphatic  words,  that  it 
might  become  fixed  and  remain  among  the  first  and 
most  distinct  things  of  his  newly  forming  life.  44  And 
to  be  loved  by  One  who  is  as  good  as  he  is  powerful,  is 
to  be  in  safety.  Only  we  must  be  obedient  children. 
He  says  that  we  must  be  kind  and  good  to  one  an 
other,  as  he  is  kind  and  good  to  us." 

44  Does    Esther    pray,   when    she    goes   to    bed  ? " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  259 

Thonght   was   still  searching  about  among   the   new 
things  which  had  come  into  his  mind. 

"  O  yes." 

"  Do  you  pray  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

A  shadow  came  over  the  pale,  exhausted  counte 
nance. 

"  I  never  pray."  There  was  a  touching  sadness  in 
Mr.  Elliot's  voice,  mingled  with  self-condemnation. 

"  Never  ?  "     As  if  in  surprise. 

"  No ;  I  have  never  prayed.  I  didn't  know  about 
God.  How  do  you  know  about  him  ?  Who  told 
you?"  There  was  a  rising  eagerness  in  Mr.  Elliot's 
tones. 

"  We  have  God's  book,  the  Bible.  In  that  he  tells 
us  all  about  what  we  are  to  do  in  order  to  please  Him." 

"  The  Bible  !  "  It  seemed,  from  his  manner,  as  if 
an  old  memory  had  awakened  into  life ;  but,  if  it  had 
stirred,  its  sleep  was  not  broken. 

"  Yes,  the  Bible."  And  Mr.  Ewbank  lifted  a  copy 
of  Sacred  Scripture  from  the  table  near  which  he  was 
sitting,  and  opening  it,  read  aloud  a  portion  of  one  of 
the  chapters  in  Matthew  —  not  selected  with  a  view  to 
Mr.  Elliot's  state,  but  simply  as  a  portion  of  God's 
Word,  trusting  to  Divine  influence  for  the  effect.  It 
was  a  part  of  his  faith,  that,  interior  to  the  sense  of  the 
letter  of  Holy  Writ,  which  comes  to  the  natural  under- 


260  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

standing  of  man,  was  a  divinely  spiritual  sense,  by 
means  of  which  God,  who  is  the  Word,  is  actually  pres 
ent  to  all  who  read  or  hear  in  states  of  innocence  and 
true  worship.  And  so,  while  not  looking  for  this  por 
tion  of  Scripture  to  give  distinct  religious  ideas  to  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Elliot,"  he  trusted  to  its  interior  influence 
—  and  not  in  vain.  The  disturbed  condition  in  which 
he  had  been  a  little  while  before,  subsided  into  a  peace 
ful  state  ;  and  he  said,  after  Mr.  Ewbank  had  finished 
reading  — 

"  I'll  pray,  if  you'll  teach  me." 

When  bedtime  came,  Mr.  Ewbank  went  with  the  pas 
sive  old  man  to  his  chamber,  and  there  heard  him  repeat, 
as  he  gave  him  the  sentences,  that  all-embracing  pray 
er,  which  has  gone  up  from  millions  of  Christian  lips 
since  Christ  said  to  his  disciples  — 

"  After  this  manner  pray  ye." 

Earnestly,  innocently,  as  one  of  God's  little  ones,  did 
he  offer  this  prayer,  kneeling  as  he  had  seen  Jasper 
kneel,  with  hands  uplifted  and  shut  eyes.  And  then, 
lying  down  in  peace,  he  was  asleep  ere  a  minute  had 
passed  from  the  time  his  head  was  on  the  pillow.  For 
a  good  while  Mr.  Ewbank  remained  looking  on  his  wan 
and  wasted  face,  now  so  tranquil.  His  wife  came  in, 
and  stood  by  his  side,  her  hands  drawn  through  one  of 
his  arms  and  clasped  together. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  said  Mrs.  Ewbank, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  261 

in  a  whisper,  "  but,  whenever  I  look  at  him,  I  feel  tears 
coming  into  my  eyes.  It  is  the  strangest  case  I've  heard 
tell  of.  Everything  lost!  His  name  even;  for  I  don't 
believe  that  Elliot  is  his  true  name." 

"  Perhaps  not.  All  that  concerns  him  is  shrouded  in 
mystery."  -  Mr.  Ewbank  moved  back  from  the  bed,  as 
he  spoke,  and  they  retired  from  the  chamber.  u  But 
one  thing  is  clear  to  my  mind,  Lydia,"  he  added,  as 
they  sat  down  in  the  adjoining  room,  "  in  God's  provi 
dence,  he  is  in  our  hands,  and  we  must  do  all  for  him 
that  lies  in  our  power.  It  is  not  probable  that  he  will 
continue,  for  a  very  long  time,  in  his  present  isolation 
from  the  past.  As  thought  awakens,  through  the  agency 
of  instruction,  it  will  break  through  the  veil  that  has 
dropped  between  his  inner  and  outer  life.  This  may  be 
gradual,  or  it  may  be  sadden.  Whenever  it  takes  place, 
our  work  is  ended.  Now,  we  have  him  as  an  ignorant 
and  innocent  child ;  and  we  must  do  for  him  what  is 
best  for  a  child.  It  seems  to  me,  that  God  has,  in  us, 
provided  for  the  storing  up  in  his  mind  of  the  elements 
of  a  new  and  truer  life,  by  which,  when  reason  is  re 
stored,  he  may  have  power  to  rise  out  of  the  old  selfish 
ness  and  sordidness  that  I  learn  shadowed  his  manhood. 
This  work  is  more  entirely  in  your  hands  than  it  is  in 
mine,  for  it  is  a  mother's  work  —  dealing  with  affection 
more  than  with  thought.  Dear  wife  !  " —  feeling  trembled 
in  his  voice  — "  you  are  chosen  of  Him  whose  love  reache? 


262  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

down  to  the  condition  of  every  human  being,  to  care  for 
this  weak  old  man  ;  to  awaken  kind,  tender,  loving,  rev 
erent  impulses  in  his  soul.  To  give  him  a  new  and 
better  childhood.  The  seed  now  planted  by  your  hands 
may  grow  and  bring  fruit  in  his  restored  manhood.  The 
new  knowledge  of  things  which  we  may  impart,  will  be 
of  use  only  in  the  degree  that  they  help  in  the  formation 
of  tender,  unselfish,  and  pious  states.  If  memory  re 
vives,  he  will  come  back  into  all  the  former  things  of 
his  life.  My  hope  is,  that  something  of  what  we  give 
him  now,  may  so  dwell  with  these  things,  as  to  form  the 
base  of  a  new  column  in  the  structure  of  his  mind,  the 
top  of  which  shall  reach  far  above  the  old  building,  and 
stand  where  the  pure  sunlight  of  heaven  may  rest  upon 
it  as  a  crown." 

"  I  do  not  see  in  all  things  as  you  see,"  Mrs.  Ewbank 
answered,  leaning  towards  her  husband,  and  looking  up 
to  him  with  loving  confidence.  "My  eyes  are  not  so 
clear.  But,  as  you  lead,  dear  husband,  I  will  walk. 
The  path  of  duty  I  have  learned,  after  long  discipline, 
to  be  the  path  in  which  peace  is  to  be  found.  It  is  the 
safest  way,  I  am  sure/' 

"  Rightly  said,"  answered  Mr.  Ewbank,  "  for  they 
who  walk  in  it  walk  with  God — and  when  he  is  near 
us  evil  is  far  distant." 

"  How  shall  I  plant  this  seed  of  which  you  speak  ? 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  263 

How  shall  I  awaken  pure  and  good  affections  in  his 
mind  ?  " 

"  Love  kindles  love,"  replied  Mr.  Ewbank.  "  Show 
him,  in  all  your  conduct,  that  you  love  and  care  for  him 
—  that  you  desire  to  make  him  happy  ;  this  will  draw 
his  heart  towards  you,  and  give  impressiveness  to  all 
you  say  and  do.  Then,  into  the  love  he  will  bear  for 
you,  cast  seeds  of  reverence  and  love  for  God,  as  they 
are  cast  into  the  minds  of  children.  These  cannot  per 
ish.  God  will  give  increase,  dear  wife !  A  strange 
work  has  been  committed  to  our  hands.  Let  us,  in  all 
faithfulness  and  humility,  looking  to  God  for  help,  see 
that  nothing  suffers  through  our  lack  of  diligence.  If 
we  can  save  a  soul,  we  shall  do  the  work  of  angels." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

>E  shall  not  dwell  with  particulari 
ty  on  the  life  of  Mr.  Elliot  —  the 
name  by  which  Mr.  Guy  was 
|N  known  —  in  the  family  of  Mr. 
Ewbank.  He  remained  there  for 
several  months,  during  which  time 
he  was  docile,  innocent,  and  often 
sportive  as  a  child.  In  this  period 
he  had  learned  to  read  a  little,  and  would  often  take  a 
book  and  sit  alone,  trying  to  gather  meaning  from  the 
sentences.  For  Mrs.  Ewbank,  he  manifested  the  purest 
love  ;  and  was  always  happiest  when  by  her  side.  Her 
word  was  his  law  ;  not  her  word  spoken  in  author 
ity,  but  the  simple  expression  of  her  will.  When 
she  read  to  him,  as  her  husband  desired  her  to  do  fre 
quently,  those  Bible  stories  which  all  young  child 
ren  delight  to  hear,  —  about  Joseph  and  his  breth 
ren  —  the  Hebrew  children  —  of  Abraham,  David 
and  Daniel  —  and  of  the  nativity  of  our  Lord ;  he 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  265 

would  listen  to  her  with  that  absorbed  attention  which 
appropriates  every  sentence.  Thus,  his  newly  forming 
memory  became  peopled  with  the  men  and  women  of 
olden  times,  whose  words  and  deeds,  representative  of 
divine  things,  God  has  established  as  holy  Scripture. 

In  all  these  months,  Mr.  Elliot  had  expressed  no  de 
sire  to  pass  beyond  the  threshold  of  his  new  home.  He 
would  sit  or  stand  by  the  window,  and  look  on  the  living 
panorama  with  a  vague,  childish  wonder  ;  but  the  hard, 
strong,  involved  things  on  the  outside,  instead  of  attract 
ing,  made  him  shrink  back  with  an  emotion  of  dread. 

But  at  last,  signs  of  a  new  state  were  visible  ;  and 
the  friends  who  had  cared  for  him  until  care  wrought 
itself  into  love,  began  to  fear  and  tremble.  Mrs.  Ew- 
bank,  noticing  one  day  that  he  was  unusually  quiet, 
asked,  as  we  sometimes  ask  a  child  — 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

He  raised  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her  for  some  mo 
ments  ;  then  dropped  them  without  answering.  The 
expression  of  his  face  was  so  completely  changed,  that 
he  did  not  appear  like  the  same  person. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  "  Mrs. 
Ewbank  repeated  the  question,  after  a  little  while. 

"  I  must  have  been  dreaming,"  he  answered,  looking 
up  again,  half  perplexed,  and  with  a  faint  smile  breaking 
around  his  lips. 


266  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Of  what  were  you  dreaming  ?  "  Mrs.  Ewbank 
half  held  her  breath  for  the  reply. 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  all  gone  now,"  he  answered, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Mr.  Ewbank,  in  ad 
dressing  his  wife,  called  her  Lydia. 

"  That's  a  sweet  name,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  caused  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  to  look 
at  him  curiously. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  remarked  the  latter. 

"  Yes.  And  I've  heard  it  before.  I  used  to  know 
a  Lydia.  I  wonder  where  she  is  ?  "  And  his  face  grew 
shaded  and  intent. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  turned  to  each  other  in  si 
lence.  It  wajs  plain  to  them  that  a  few  pencils  of  light 
had  penetrated  the  veil  which  hung  between  the  past 
and  the  present. 

"  Oh,  I  remember  .now.  She  went  away."  There 
was  a  quiet  sadness  in  his  voice.  "  She  went  away 
somewhere  and  left  me." 

"  And  never  came  back  ?  "  Mrs.  Ewbank  ventured 
to  enquire. 

'     "  Never !  "     He   sighed    again,    but   more    deeply. 
"  Never  came  back  again." 

With  a  quick  motion,  Mr.  Elliot  now  lifted  his  hand 
and  pressed  it  hard  against  his  forehead,  as  if  in  pain. 

"  Does  your  head  ache,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  267 

He  did  not  answer,  but  turned  partly  away,  so  as  to 
hide  his  face  ;  and  sat  perfectly  motionless.  Presently, 
as  they  looked  at  him  intently,  they  saw  a  slight  move 
ment  of  his  head,  and  caught  a  stealthy  look,  that  was 
instantly  withdrawn.  He  was  still  again  for  some  time. 
Mr.  Ewbank  now  spoke  to  him,  calling  his  name.  Slow 
ly  turning,  and  withdrawing  his  hand  from  his  forehead, 
Mr.  Elliot  asked,  with  a  degree  of  intelligence  in  his 
voice  that  startled  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  — 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ewbank. 

Mr.  Elliot  shook  his  head. 

"  Five  months." 

A  hand  was  pressed  tightly  to  his  forehead  again. 
"  Five  months  !  "  He  repeated  the  answer  in  a  perplex 
ed  tone.  Then  withdrew  his  hand,  stood  up,  gazed  at 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ewbank  searchingly,  then  all  around  the 
room. 

"  Am  I  sleeping  or  waking?  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 
There  was  something  mournful  in  his  voice. 

"  Awake,  Mr.  Elliot,  and  with  true  friends,"  replied 
Mr.  Ewbank,  not  rising,  nor  seeming  to  be  disturbed  or 
surprised. 

"  Mr.  Elliot !  '  Why  do  you  call  me  Mr.  Elliot  ?"  he 
demanded,  with  apparent  irritation. 

"  It  is  the  name  your  friend,  Doctor  Hofland,  gave 
us,"  was  replied. 


268  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Doctor  Hofland  !  "  He  startled  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ew- 
bank  with  his  emphatic  repetition.  Clasping  his  fore 
head  again,  now  with  both  hands,  he  sat  down  and  re 
mained  entirely  motionless  as  before. 

"  Will  you  send  for  him?  "  he  asked,  at  length,  with 
repressed  feeling. 

"  To-night  ?  " 

4 '  Yes.     I  would  like  to  see  him  to-night." 

"  He  lives  at  a  considerable  distance  from  here,  and 
it  is  growing  late,"  said  Mrs.  Ewbank,  in  a  gentle,  per 
suasive  way,  going  up  to  Mr.  Elliot,  and  laying  her  hand 
on  him.  The  touch  was  like  a  charm  ;  for,  when  she 
added  — "  Wont  it  do  as  well  for  you  to  see  him  in  the 
morning?"  he  answered  submissively  — 

"  Yes,  it  will  do  as  well  in  the  morning  ;  but  I  must 
see  him  then." 

"  You  wont  go  away  and  leave  us,  I  hope."  -  Mrs.  Ew 
bank  said  this  with  real  emotion,  for  her  heart,  so  long 
interested  in  the  docile  old  man,  had  learned  to  love  him, 
and  the  thought  of  parting  was  painful. 

"  I  will  come  back  again,  or  you  shall  come  to  me," 
he  answered,  almost  fondly. 

His  mind  seemed  to  wander  a  little  after  this  —  to 
play  between  the  past  and  the  present,  and  to  mingle  re 
mote  with  recent  things. 

o 

"  I  wonder  where  she  is  !  Do  you  know  ?  "  He  lift 
ed  lis  eyes  to  the  face  of  Mrs.  Ewbank,  after  a  period 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  269 

of  silence,  in  which  it  was  plain  that  he  was  endeavor 
ing  to  untangle  the  confused  things  in  his  mind,  and 
gazed  at  her  with  a  look  of  troubled  inquiry. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ewbank. 

"  My  Lydia."  And  the  perplexed  look  deepened. 
"  My  Lydia,"  he  repeated.  "  Didn't  you  know  her  ? 
I'm  sure  you  must  have  known  her." 

A  sudden  flush  came  —  his  eyes  enlarged  —  his  lips 
fell  apart —  a  tremor  seized  him.  For  a  short  period,  he 
was  like  one  startled  by  an  apparition.  This  passed, 
and  he  was  in  repose  again. 

"  Your  name  is  Lydia."  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Ewbank 
with  returning  fondness. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name." 

"  And  her  name  was  Lydia." 

"Who?" 

A  shadow  crept  over  his  face  —  he  sighed,  and  turn 
ed  away. 

"  I'm  trying  to  think,"  he  said,  speaking  soon  after 
wards,  but  a  little  mournfully.  "  I  don't  know  where 
she  went.  Oh-h  I  "  The  ejaculation  was  sudden,  pro 
longed,  and  uttered  as  a  cry  of  pain.  Some  bitter 
nemory  had  flashed  into  light. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Elliot  ?  What  hurt  you  ?  "  Mrs. 
Ewbank  drew  closer,  and  spoke  with  fond  familiarity. 

"  Dead  !  Dead  !  "     His  voice  was  full  of  grief. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?  " 


270  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Lydia  —  my  poor  Lydia  !  I  remember  it  now. 
She  grew  sick  and  died.  Poor  Lydia  !  I'm  afraid  — " 
He  checked  himself;  shrunk  down  a  little,  as  if  under 
the  weight  of  some  unhappy  thought,  and  became  once 
more  silent. 

"  Was  it  a  long  time  ago  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ewbank. 

He  started,  with  face  flushing  anew,  and  turned  full 
around  upon  Mrs.  Ewbank,  rising  at  the  same  time  to 
his  feet.  Eagerly,  almost  wildly  did  he  search  her 
countenance. 

"  There  was  another  Lydia,"  he  said,  his  voice  shak 
ing.  "  A  dead  Lydia  and  a  living  one.  They  had  the 
same  voice,  and  I  heard  it  just  now  —  the  same  eyes 
and  hair.  O,  my  God  !  "  The  trembling  old  man 
shut  his  hands  over  his  face  and  stood  for1  a  few  moments. 
Then  withdrawing  them,  he  said  with  constrained  calm 
ness — 

"  My  name  is  Adam  Guy  !  " 

"  And  I  am  Lydia  !  Oh,  my  father !  My  father  !  " 
Mrs.  Ewbank  sprang  forward,  thro  wing  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  laying  her  head  on  his  breast. 

Past  the  form  clinging  to  him,  the  old  man  looked  to 
Mr.  Ewbank,  who  had  started  up,  and  now  stood  near 
them  —  looked  to  him  with  an  almost  helpless,  but  im 
ploring  expression,  as  one  in  a  swiftly  running  stream, 
ready  to  be  swept  away.  Mr.  Ewbank  understood  the 
appeal,  and,  astonished  as  he  was  by  so  unlocked  for  a 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  271 

denouement,  said,  as  he  made  an  effort  to  lift  his  wife 
away  — 

"If  you  are  indeed  Adam  Guy,  who  was  thought  to 
be  dead,  this  is  your  daughter  Lydia." 

"  I  am  Adam  Guy,"  was  almost  solemnly  answered. 

"  Father !  Father  !  Father  !  "  Mrs.  Ewbank  lifted 
her  face  from  his  breast,  and  with  eyes  full  of  light  and 
tears,  looked  at  him  lovingly,  yet  wonderingly.  "  And 
you  have  been  with  me  so  many  months,  and  I  did  not 
know  it !  O  father !  Do  you  love  me  ?  Do  you  love 
your  Lydia  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  in  words  — only  with  kisses  and 
embraces.  Love  had  begotten  love.  The  old,  sordid, 
selfish  father  had  not  really  loved  his  child;  but  love  was 
the  chief  element  in  that  new  state,  which,  through  a 
forming  period  of  nearly  half  a  year,  had  gained  suf 
ficient  power  to  dwell  in  safety,  even  amid  the  hard, 
cold,  repellent  things  of  his  former  life. 

Mr.  Ewbank,  fearing  the  consequence  of  excitement 
on  the  mental  condition  of  Mr.  Guy  —  as  we  must  now 
call  him  —  drew  his  wife  gently  away,  and  in  calm 
words  to  both,  suggesting  gratitude  to  God  for  this 
wonderful  restoration,  led  their  thoughts  into  smoother 
channels.  Still,  in  her  eagerness  to  know  something  of 
the  great  mystery  enshrouding  the  past  ten  years  of  her 
father's  life,  Lydia  kept  asking  questions,  that  disturbed 
instead  of  tranquillizing.  Memory  was  still  confused  — 


272  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

all  its  pages  were  not  open.  There  was  obscurity  and 
incoherence  in  the  old  man's  answers  ;  and  a  troubled 
effort  to  untangle  many  things.  With  a  wise  solicitude, 
that  comprehended  his  state,  Mr.  Ewbank  drew  his 
thoughts  as  much  as  possible  away  from  the  unhappy 
past,  that  it  might  dwell  with  present  good,  and  have, 
now  that  he  was  coming  into  his  right  mind,  a  distinct 
perception  of  that  Christian  love  and  charity,  in  the 
sphere  of  which  he  had  been  dwelling.  Everything, 
he  felt,  depended  on  the  crisis  which  had  come.  If  the 
good  affections  and  true  thoughts  that  dwelt  with  him 
in  the  late  childhood  condition  of  his  mind,  could  be 
linked,  as  a  golden  chain,  whose  staple  was  in  heaven, 
to  the  thoughts  and  affections,  which,  on  the  return  of 
reason  and  memory,  would  move  his  heart  and  brain, 
then  he  might  become  a  true  man,  and  his  last  days  be 
better  than  his  first.  It  was  for  this  he  had  been  work 
ing,  and  now  must  come  a  fruitful  field,  or  rust  and 
stubble.  If  the  record  of  all  that  had  passed  in  these 
months  of  planting  and  culture,  was  to  be  sealed  up, 
alas  for  the  restored !  Old  passions,  intensified  by 
wrong,  would  sweep  him  away,  and  he  would  be  in  the 
hands  of  enemies  tenfold  more  cruel  than  those  from 
whom  he  had  escaped.  No  wonder  that  Mr.  Ewbank, 
conscious  of  his  ignorance  and  weakness  in  a  case  like 
this,  looked  up  and  prayed  —  "  Lord,  give  wisdom  and 
strength." 


WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS.  273 

Right  thoughts  came  at  the  right  time.  Into  his 
unselfish  desire  to  do  good,  flowed  true  perceptions. 
As  the  states  of  Mr.  Guy  varied,  he  was  able  to  see 
what  was  best  to  be  said  or  done,  in  order  to  keep  those 
golden  links  fast  to  the  newly  forming  life.  And  so,  as 
the  old  past  came  slowly  back,  getting  more  and  more 
distinct,  with  all  its  horrible  wrongs,  the  present  was 
clung  to  as  an  ark  of  safety,  and  the  love  that  was  to 
save  him  kept  warm  —  love  for  his  daughter,  which  so 
flooded  his  heart  that  coldness  was  impossible. 

After  that  sudden  awakening  to  a  consciousness  of 
who  he  was,  Mr.  Guy  did  not  recover  reason  and  mem 
ory  in  full  strength  for  a  long  time. 

In  this  slow  restoration  was  his  true  safety.  It  gave 
opportunity  for  Doctor  Hofland,  who  saw  him  frequent 
ly,  and  for  Mr.  Ewbank,  who  watched  over  him  with  a 
manly  solicitude,  to  take  counsel  as  to  all  that  was  best 
to  be  done.  With  a  passiveness  that  was  remarkable, 
he  generally  submitted  to  their  judgment  of  his  case, 
letting  his  indeterminate  thought  dwell  with  their  calm 
er  reason. 

"  If  you  think  best."  How  often  he  so  replied  to 
their  arguments  against  his  expressed  wish  to  summon 
Mr.  Larobe  to  the  defensive,  and  drive  him  to  punish 
ment  and  restitution.  They  understood  better  than  he, 
the  difficulties  that  were  in -the  way.  The  proof  of 
identity  must  be  complete,  and  many  links  in  the  chain 


>  274  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

of  evidence  were  lacking.  Sometimes,  in  his  varying 
states,  Mr.  Guy  would  grow  restive,  or  impatient. 
Then  it  was  that  his  daughter's  power  over  him  became 
manifest.  A  word  of  gentle  remonstrance  —  the  pres 
sure  of  her  hand  on  his  hand  or  arm  —  a  soft,  persuasive 
smile  —  there  was  a  magic  in  these  that  softened  him 
into  confidence  and  submission.  The  love  she  had 
awakened  did  not  die,  but  seemed  to  gain  strength  daily, 
twining  itself  as  a  golden  thread  amid  all  his  awakening 
thoughts,  passions,  desires  and  purposes.  In  the  new 
future  that  opened  to  his  onward-reaching  eyes,  he  saw 
l.er  always  ;  saw  her,  and  the  great  reward  of  love  and 
benefit  that  it  was  in  his  heart  to  bestow. 

It  is  a  fact  to  be  noticed,  that  no  suspicion  of  a  selfish 
end  in  Mr.  Ewbank,  crept  into  Mr.  Guy's  heart.  As 
one  of  the  guards  against  this,  Doctor  Hofland  had  taken 
occasion,  at  the  earliest  moment  in  which  he  would  be 
comprehended,  to  assure  Mr.  Guy,  that  neither  his 
daughter  or  her  husband- had  entertained  a  suspicion  of 
who  he  was  until  he  discovered  himself.  There  was 
another  reason.  A  man  of  pure  motives  bears  with 
him  a  sphere  of  his  quality,  which  those  who  come  into 
intimate  association  perceive.  Mr.  Guy  felt  this  sphere, 
and  it  had  power  not  only  to  keep  all  suspicion  back, 
but  to  win  his  perfect  confidence.  He  felt  safe  with 
Mr.  Ewbank  —  felt  that  he  was  a  friend,  in  a  higher  and 
truer  sense  than  he  had  before  understood  that  term ; 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  275* 

• 

and  not  only  this,  but  of  such  judgment  and  discretion, 
that  he  might  trust  him  as  the  wisest  of  counsellors. 

Thus  it  stood  with  Mr.  Guy,  two  months  from  the 
period  when  light  broke  into  his  mind.  Without  con 
sulting  him  in  regard  to  what  they  were  doing,  Mr. 
Ewbank  and  Doctor  Hofland,  through  the  agency  of 
one  of  the  soundest  and  most  discreet  lawyers  in  the 
city,  were  diligently,  but  secretly,  at  work,  searching 
for  evidence  that,  when  brought  together,  would  prove 
the  identity  of  Mr.  Guy  beyond  the  reach  of  cavil,  and 
so  establish  him  in  all  his  legal  rights.  The  movements 
of  Mr.  Larobe  were  observed  closely.  The  property 
which  his  late  wife  held  in  her  own  right,  by  reservation 
at  marriage,  and  which,  by  will,  she  had  left  to  her 
children,  did  not  come  under  his  control,  as  she  named 
executors.  But,  a  considerable  portion  of  it  was  in 
volved  in  mixed  transactions  under  his  old  executorship 
of  Mr.  Guy's  estate.  The  executors  under  Mrs.  La- 
robe's  will,  early  became  satisfied  that  all  was  not  right, 
and  gave  the  lawyer  peremptory  warning  of  their  pur 
pose  to  press  matters  to  a  legal  inquiry,  unless  the  prop 
erty  claimed  by  the  instrument  under  which  they  were 
acting,  was  placed,  free  from  all  entanglement  with  any 
other  interests,  into  their  hands.  There  was  demur, 
and  affected  defiance  on  his  part ;  but,  standing  as  he 
knew  himself  to  be,  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  he  took 
counsel  of  prudence,  and  yielded  everything  —  so  that 


276  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

the  entire  property  claimed  by  the  testator,  amounting 
in  value  to  over  sixty  thousand  dollars,  was  safe 'for  her 
heirs.  Thus,  only  about  twenty  thousand  dollars  of  all 
the  large  estate  which  Larobe  had  ventured  upon  the 
crime  of  bigamy  to  secure,  actually  remained  with  him. 
He  had  accepted  the  terms  of  settlement  required  before 
marriage,  trusting  to  his  future  power  over  his  wife,  and 
ability  to  mismanage  her  affairs  in -a  way  to  secure  all 
the  benefits  contemplated  in  this  criminal  alliance.  But, 
the  events  he  would  have  shaped,  were  under  that  high 
er  control  which  always  limits  the  power  of  evil,  and 
surely,  sooner  or  later,  casts  down  the  wicked. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HE  movements  of  Larobe,  as  we  have 
said,  were  closely  observed.  It  was 
plain  to  those  who  had  him  under 
surveillance,  that  he  had  lost  much  of 
the  old  self-reliant  manner ;  was  alert 
—  suspicious —  uneasy.  Even  in  court, 
a  change  was  apparent.  He  did  not 
come  up  to  the  defence  or  prosecution 
of  his  cases,  with  that  absorption  of  himself  into  the 
causes  under  trial,  that  distinguished  him  of  old,  and  so 
often  wrought  the  success  which  would  not  otherwise 
have  been  achieved.  In  a  comparatively  short  time 
age  had  marked  him,  as  though  touched  by  years.  His 
hair  was  losing  its  darker  shades  rapidly,  and  his  flesh 
shrinking.  Care-worn  —  that  word  gives  the  expression 
of  his  face,  when  in  repose.  He  was  beginning  to  stoop 
a  little,  as  if  yielding  to  the  weight  of  a  perpetual  bur 
den. 

As  far  as  could  be  ascertained,  no  changes  m  the  con- 


278  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

dition  of  his  real  property  were  made,  beyond  what  was 
necessary  in  his  settlements  with  the  executors  of  his 
late  wife's  estate.  He  seemed  to  be  like  one  hiding  and 
waiting  for  a  danger  to  pass  —  a  danger  so  threatening, 
that  the  very  effort  to  escape  might  ensure  destruction. 

Mrs.  Larobe's  death  took  place  before  Edwin  Guy 
had  succeeded  in  negotiating  the  notes  extorted  from  his 
unhappy  mother-in  law.  Mr.  Glastonbury's  conduct  in 
this  matter  did  not  seem  open  and  fair  to  Edwin,  and 
more  than  once  he  suspected  him  to  be  playing  false. 
There  was  always  some  plausible  reason  why  the  notes 
were  not  sold,  and  always  some  new  opening,  with  flat 
tering  chances.  At  last,  losing  all  patience,  Edwin  de 
manded  of  his  lawyer  a  return  of  the  notes.  A  little 
to  his  surprise,  Glastonbury  took  a  pocket-book  from  his 
fire-proof,  and  produced  the  paper. 

"  Take  them,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  but  let  me  suggest 
caution.  There  is  something  in  the  wind  that  I  cannot 
make  out.  You  may  stumble  on  a  wasp's  nest,  and  get 
stung." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  From  whence  is  danger 
threatened  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  speak  of  what  is  in  my 
thoughts.  Some  under-current  of  things  is  moving  ad 
versely  to  our  friend  Mr.  Larobe  —  I  can  see  that  — 
but  of  its  character  I  am  not  advised.  Since  the  death 
of  his  wife,  he  has  changed  rapidly.  It  is  scarcely  a 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  279 

month  since  her  sudden  decease,  and  her  loss,  or  some 
thing  else  —  " 

"  Something  else  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Edwin,  with 
sarcasm  in  his  voice. 

"Has  profoundly  disturbed  his  peace,"  added  the 
lawyer. 

"  He  may  have  murdered  her,  as  he  murdered  my 
father.  It  is  the  guilty  conscience,  you  may  depend  on't. 
No,  not  conscience  either;  that  was  seared  long  ago. 
It's  fear  of  retribution  —  a  haunting  terror,  that  is  eat 
ing  into  his  life." 

"  I  know  not  how  that  may  be.  Such  grave  charges, 
however,  my  young  friend,  should  not  be  made,  except 
on  very  clear  evidence,  and  I  must  caution  you  against 
toofree  speaking  in  this  direction.  Trouble,  not  antici 
pated,  may  be  the  consequence." 

"  What  would  you  suggest  in  regard  to  these  notes  ?  " 
asked  Edwin,  not  responding  to  Mr.  Glastonbury's  last 
remark. 

"  Keep  them  in  your  own  possession." 

"  They  will  not  be  paid  at  maturity,  by  the  executors 
of  my  mother-in-law's  estate." 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Would  you  advise  a  suit,  or  an  offer  to  abandon  the 
notes  for  a  consideration  ?  " 

"  I  am  not,  as  things  stand,  prepared  to  suggest  any 
thing  in  the  way  of  action.  For  the  present,  keep  just 


280  WHAT    CAME    AF.TERWARDS. 

where  you  are.  If  there  is  no  gain,  there  is  no  loss. 
Before  the  maturity  of  these  notes,  events  may  happen 
that  will  not  only  make  them  as  worthless  as  waste 
paper,  but —  " 

Mr.  Glastonbury  checked  himself  so  suddenly,  that 
Edwin  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  a  very  discreet  young  man,  Mr.  Guy," 
said  the  lawyer,  speaking  with  entire  self-possession. 
"  So  far,  in  this  business,  you  have  acquired  an  advant 
age  by  some  four  thousand  dollars,  but  in  a  way  I  could 
not  have  advised.  On  the  principle,  that  a  bird  in  the 
hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush,  you  have  considered 
yourself  the  gainer,  and  maybe  you  are ;  but,  we  never 
can  tell  what  a  day  may  bring  forth.  I  am  of  the 
opinion,  that  events  will  prove  you  to  have  lost,  instead 
of  gained  in  this  transaction." 

"  Why  do  you  say  this  ?  What  do  you  know  ?  "  de 
manded  Edwin. 

"  I  know,  from  long  observation,  that  operations  of 
this  kind  rarely  pay ;  and,  without  being  much  of  a 
prophet,  I  may  venture  the  prediction,  that  it  will  not 
pay  in  your  case.  If  we  could  determine  the  action  of 
events,  all  would  be  well ;  but  this  is  beyond  our  ability. 
Man  proposes,  as  it  is  said,  but  God  disposes.  Unac 
ceptable  as  the  truth  may  be,  my  young  friend,  it  is  a 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  281 

fact  in  all  experience,  that  we  cannot  make  things  come 
out  in  the  line  of  our  purpose." 

The  best  laid  plans  of  mice  and  men 
Gang  all  aglee,' 

as  the  bard  has  it." 

"  Mr.  Glastonbury,  there  is  something  back  of  all 
this !  "  said  Edwin,  showing  considerable  disturbance. 
"  You  are  in  possession  of  facts  that  I  should  know  !  " 

The  lawyer's  manner  did  not  change. 

"What  are  they?" 

Glastonbury  shook  his  head.  His  eyes  and  face  were 
a  sealed  book.  Edwin  continued  — 

"  Again,  Mr.  Glastonbury,  I  must  put  the  question 
—  what  had  I  best  do  ?  You  have  said  wait ;  but  I  am 
not  of  the  waiting  temperament." 

"  If  my  advice  pleases,  you  will  take  it,"  answered 
the  lawyer. 

"  I  will  be  governed  by  what  you  say,"  replied  the 
young  man.  "  But  we  all  like  reasons  for  the  course 
we  are  counselled  to  pursue.  Blind  action  is  of  all 
things  most  distasteful." 

"  My  young  friend,"  said  the  lawyer,  speaking  with 
unusual  seriousness,  "  it  is  always  safest  to  undo  what 
is  wrong,  than  to  let  the  wrong  abide  ;  for,  somehow  or 
other,  there  is  in  all  wrong  a  hidden  impulse  towards 
retribution,  that  never  dies.  You  were  wrong  in  ex- 


282  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

torting  money  and  notes  from  your  mother-in-law  ;  and 
I  believe,  as  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago,  that  you  lost 
heavily  in  the  transaction.  As  you  seem  to  be  in  doubt 
as  to  what  is  best,  I  will  say,  in  plain  words,  what  I 
think." 

"  Say  on." 

"  Go  to  the  executors  of  your  mother-in-law's  estate, 
and  offer  to  destroy  the  notes  in  their  presence,  if  they 
will  return  your  receipts." 

"  You  seriously  advise  this  ?  " 

"  Seriously." 

"  Suppose  you  were  in  my  place  ?  " 

44  Knowing  what  I  do,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  I  would 
not  hold  them  a  day." 

"  Knowing  what  you  do  !  "  The  young  man  s  color 
came  and  went.  "  You  confound  me  with  mysteries. 
Why  cannot  you  speak  out  plainly  of  what  concerns 
my  interests  ?  " 

"  I  have  spoken  plainly  enough,  Mr.  Guy,  for  all 
practical  purposes.  It  is  for  you  to  act  now  in  the  way 
your  reason  may  determine.  But  I  warn  you  of  dan 
ger,  if  you  take  any  other  path  than  the  one  I  have  sug 
gested." 

44  Danger  !  What  kind  of  danger  ?  " 

44  Impatient  —  self-willed — unwise!  I  have  given 
you  my  best  counsel,  and  can  do  no  more.  Follow  it, 
or  keep  on  in  your  own  blind  way.  But,  remember, 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 


283 


that  of  all  bitter  experiences,  that  is  among  the  bitterest 
in  which  is  wrung  from  us  the  unavailing  words  :  '  It  is 
too  late  ! '  I  said  danger  ;  perhaps  loss  may  better  ex 
press  what  I  meant.  Let  me  repeat  a  declaration  made 
just  now.  If  I  were  in  your  place,  knowing  what  /  do, 
I  would  not  keep  those  notes  a  single  day  in  my  pos 
session." 

Edwin  lingered  for  a  short  time. 

"'What  afterwards  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  After  you  have  given  up  this  paper  ?  "  ^ 

"Yes." 

"  Wait." 

"For  what?" 

"  Time  will  best  answer  that  question.  I  only  say, 
wait." 

Beyond  this,  Edwin  Guy  was  not  able  to  get  anything 
from  the  lawyer.  He  did  not  act  immediately  on  his 
advice  ;  but,  after  a  week's  perplexed  debate,  concluded 
to  abandon  the  notes,  which  was  done. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

here  had  come  many  hindrances  in  the 
work  of  collecting  evidence,  bearing 
upon  the  identity  of  Mr.  Guy.  Hav 
ing  to  move  secretly,  and  with  great 
circumspection,  it  required  a  long  time 
to  accomplish  a  little.  But  at  length 
the  completing  links  were  found,  and 
all  was  in  readiness  for  action.  The 
only  thing  to  determine  was  the  initial  step.  There 
had  been  fear  that  Larobe,  forewarned,  might  escape, 
and  put  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  justice,  ere  it  would 
be  safe  to  order  his  arrest.  Doctor  Hofland  almost 
hoped  for  this,  as  such  a  flight  would  be  regarded  as 
conclusive  of  his  guilt ;  but  Mr.  Guy  was  of  another 
mind.  The  double  wrong  he  had  sustained  at  his  hands, 
fired  his  soul  with  a  thirst  for  retribution ;  and  this  be 
came  more  intense,  as  mind  and  body  grew  stronger. 

"  He  must  not,  shall  not  escape  !  "  was  his  oft  repeat 
ed  declaration. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  285 

Mr.  Ewbank  was  at  the  office  of  Doctor  Hofland,  and 
the  two  men  were  in  final  conference  touching  the  case 
of  Mr.  Guy.  The  yet  undetermined  question  regarded 
Adam  Guy,  Jr.  Up  to  this  point,  no  communication 
had  been  held  with  him,  and  every  precaution  had  been 
taken  to  keep  him  in  ignorance  of  his  father's  presence 
in  the  city.  Still,  he  had  been  carefully  observed,  in 
order  to  know  if  anything  passed  between  him  and  La- 
robe.  The  conclusion  reached,  at  the  present  interview, 
was  in  favor  of  seeing  him,  and  making  a  full  statement 
of  facts.  While  yet  considering  the  subject,  a  student 
came  in  and  said  that  a  gentleman  had  called  and  wish 
ed  to  see  the  Doctor.  On  going  into  the  front  office, 
he  found,  much  to  his  surprise,  the  very  person  of  whom 
they  were  talking.  The  countenance  of  Mr.  Guy  was 
very  serious. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said,  with  a  natural  contraction  of  the 
brows  as  he  spoke,  and  a  half  mysterious,  half  troubled 
tone  of  voice,  "  I  have  called  to  ask  the  privilege  of  a 
private  interview." 

'•  I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Guy,"  answered  the 
Doctor. 

The  student  retired,  and  they  sat  down.  There  fol 
lowed  considerable  embarrassment  and  hesitation  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Guy.  He  then  remarked  — 

"  There  have  been  a  number  of  strange  things  said 
recently,  about  my  late  father.  I  don't  make  any  ac- 


286  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

count  of  them,  and  yet  such  gossip  is  not  pleasant, 
you  have  heard  something  of  them  no  doubt.  In  fact, 
your  name  is  mixed  up  with  the  tattle." 

Mr.  Guy  paused.  As  the  Doctor  did  not  answer 
he  resumed : 

"  It  is  even  said,  absurdly  enough,  that  my  father  is 
not  dead"  — and  he  laughed  faintly. 

Something  in  the  expression  of  Doctor  Hofland's  face, 
caused  an  instant  change  in  the  visitor's  manner. 

44  What  does  it  all  mean,  Doctor  ?  "  Mr.  Guy  was 
sober  enough  now.  "  Your  look  confounds  me  !  " 

"  It  means,"  replied  Doctor  Hofland,  speaking  slow 
ly  and  emphatically,  "  that  your  father  is  not  dead." 

•  A  sudden  paleness  swept  over  Guy's  face,   and  he 
almost  gasped  for  breath,  as  he  stammered  out  — 

44  Not  dead  !     Not  dead  !     Impossible,  sir  !  " 

4 k  What  I  have  said,  Mr.  Guy,  is  the  truth  —  noth 
ing  less,  nothing  more.  Your  father,  imprisoned  for 
over  ten  years  as  a  lunatic,  has  finally  made  his  escape, 
and  is  now  in  this  city." 

"  No  sir  !  —  No  sir  !  —  No  sir  !  "  Guy  shook  his 
head  slowly,  as  he  repeated  his  emphatic  rejection. 

44  No  sir  !  That  story  is  too  absurd.  But,  have  you 
seen  this  man  who  claims  to  be  my  father." 

44  Yes." 
'  44  And  you  credit  his  imposture  ?  " 

44 1  credit  the  man,"  replied  the  Doctor.     "  As  sure 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  287 

as  you  live  and  I  live,  Mr.  Guy,  your  father  is  now  in 
the  city  !  I  say  this  knowing  all  that  it  involves." 

"  A  bold  attempt  at  imposture,  Doctor.  It  can  be 
nothing  less.  That  my  father  was  actually  deranged, 
I  know  ;  for  I  visited  him  at  the  institution  on  Staten 
Island,  where  he  was  removed  from  the  Maryland  Hos 
pital.  I  went  into  the  room  where  he  was  confined, 
and  shall  never  forget  the  unhappy  interview.  He  was 
a  raving  madman." 

"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  Mr.  Guy,  that  the  man 
you  then  visited  in  his  gloomy  cell  was  not  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  was  my  father,"  answered  Mr.  Guy, 
most  positively.  "  Do  you  imagine,  for  a  moment,  that 
I  could  have  been  deceived  ?  " 

"  You  were  deceived,"  said  Doctor  Hofland,  speak 
ing  as  one  who  had  full  knowledge  of  what  he  declared. 
"  Du  Pontz,  the  largely  paid  accomplice  of  Mr.  Larobe 
and  your  mother-in-law,  was  notified  of  your  coming, 
and  prepared  to  receive  you.  Instead  of  taking  you  to 
your  father,  who  was  simply  a  prisoner,  yet  of  sound 
mind,  he  introduced  you  into  the  cell  of  a  confirmed 
lunatic,  shocking  you  with  the  terrible  sight  of  a  mad 
man,  whom  you  thought  to  be  your  wretched  parent. 
The  same  deception  was  practised  in  regard  to  his 
death.  The  insane  man  who  fell  from  a  window,  in 
trying  to  make  his  escape,  was  not  your  father,  al- 


288  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

though  he  now  lies  in  your  family  vault  at  Green 
Mount." 

"  Ingenious,  but  it  wont  pass  current  with  me,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Guy,  with  cold  incredulity.  He  was  re 
gaining  the  self-possession  lost,  when  the  Doctor  so 
positively  asserted  the  presence  of  his  father  in  the  city. 
"  Such  things  happen  in  books,  but  scarcely  in  real 
life.  That  wrong  was  done  to  my  father^  I  have  al 
ways  believed,  but  not  a  wrong  like  this.  In  my  opin 
ion,  he  should  never  have  been  removed  from  our  own 
hospital  to  another." 

"  That  removal  was  only  one  step  in  a  contemplated 
series.'  Your  father's  mind  was  only  partially  affected 
when  taken  there  ;  and  I  had  it  from  the  resident  phy 
sician,  at  the  time  he  was  removed,  that  he  was  fast 
recovering  his  mental  equipoise,  and  in  a  fair  way  to 
an  early  and  entire  restoration.  The  physician  was 
told  by  your  mother-in-law,  that  she  was  going  to  take 
him  home.  Why  this  deception?  Instead  of  taking 
him  home,  she  had  him  sent  away  to  a  private  madhouse, 
two  hundred  miles  distant,  and  that  is  the  last  that  was 
known  of  him,  until  the  announcement  of  his  death, 
not  long  after  which  she  was  married  to  her  accom 
plice.  She  has  gone  to  her  reward  in  the  other  life ; 
but  her  partner  in  crime  is  yet  within  the  reach  of 
justice,  and  must  not  escape.  With  all  solemnity, 
Adam  Guy,  I  summon  you  to  the  vindication  of  your 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  289 

father's  rights,  and  to  the  punishment  of  those  who  have 
done  him  such  cruel  wrong.  All  the  evidence  bearing 
upon  liis  identity  is  secured,  and  you  were  about  being 
placed  in  full  possession  of  every  particular." 

"  And  pray  sir,"  demanded  Mr.  Guy,  his  color  ris 
ing,  "  under  whose  direction  has  all  this  been  progress 
ing,  and  why  have  I  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  what 
was  going  on  until  this  time  ?  I  don't  like  the  look  of 
it,  Doctor.  It  smacks  of  imposture.  If  my  father  had, 
really,  come  back  from  the  dead,  as  it  were,  to  whom 
but  to  his  own  son  would  he  have  made  himself 
known?" 

"  His  own  son,"  replied  the  Doctor,  with  some  sever 
ity  of  tone,  "  might  have  rejected  him  as  an  impostor, 
and  refused  to  look  at  any  evidence." 

"  And  so,  he  came  first  to  you  ?  "  said  Guy,  with 
manifest  ill-feeling,  and  some  scorn. 

"  He  managed  to  communicate  with  me,  and  I  res 
cued  him  from  his  jailer,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"When?" 

"  Months  ago." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  In  this  city.     He  had  escaped  from  Staten  Island, 

a  weak,  half-crazed  old  man  —  body  and  mind  broken 

down  by  his  long  and  cruel  imprisonment.     Here  he 

was  taken,  and  again  placed  in  confinement     But,  be- 

13 


290  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

fore  he  was  murdered,  or  removed  to  a  distance,  he 
managed  to  get  word  to  me,  and  I  saved  him." 

"  You  have  been  deceived,  Doctor.  The  man  is  not 
my  father  !  "  said  Guy,  with  almost  angry  positiveness. 

"  And  yet,  sir,  within  twenty-four  hours  after  the 
chain  was  struck  from  his  ankle  —  I  speak  literally,  for 
I  found  him  chained  to  an  iron  bedstead  —  your  step 
mother  committed  suicide." 

"  Suicide  !  I  never  heard  that  cause  for  her  death 
affirmed,"  said  Guy,  with  a  confounded  look. 

"  Yet,  I  know  it  to  be  true ;  for  my  son-in-law  was 
her  physician." 

"  Where  has  this  person  been  ever  since  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Guy. 

"  With  your  sister  Lydia." 

"  And  I  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  whole  proceeding 
up  to  this  time  !  Doctor  Hofland,  this  does  not  look 
well !  There  is  about  it  a  savor  of  fraud  and  imposture. 
As  the  oldest  son  of  my  father,  there  lay  with  n;e  the 
right  to  be  consulted.  With  my  sister  Lydia,  indeed  i  " 
He  said  this  with  bitter  contempt. 

"  Throughout  this  whole  affair,  Mr.  Guy,"  returned 
Doctor  Hofland,  without  manifesting  any  resentment, 
"  I  have  acted  from  reason  and  conscience.  After 
your  father's  rescue,  the  long  agony  of  hope  deferred 
being  over,  he  sunk  into  a  state  of  total  oblivion  as  to 
the  past.  He  was  as  a  child,  with  memory  like  an  un- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  291 

written  page.  In  this  state  he  had  to  be  placed  in  the 
care  of  persons  who  would  not  only  treat  him  kindly, 
but  do  all  in  their  power  to  strengthen  his  feeble  mind. 
Careful  observation  of  your  sister  and  her  husband, 
satisfied  me  that  they  were,  of  all  whom  I  knew,  best 
fitted  for  the  work,  and  at  my  solicitation,  they  received 
him  into  their  family,  both  entirely  ignorant  as  to  who 
he  was,  and  as  unsuspicious  of  the  truth  then  as  you 
were.  Nor  did  Lydia  know  him,  until  in  the  sudden 
rush  of  returning  memories,  he  rejected  the  name  by 
which  she  had  been  used  to  address  him,  and  said  that 
he  was  Adam  Guy." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  "  demanded   the  son,  without 
showing  a  sign  of  natural  feeling.     The  lines   on  his 
forehead  were  stern  —  his  lips  hard  and  cold. 
"  With  your  sister  still." 

"  Ah  —  yes  !  And,  of  course,  she  is  ready  to  swear 
to  his  identity.  A  nice  little  arrangement,  truly  !  But, 
it  wont  go  down,  Doctor,  mark  my  word  for  it."  The 
voice  of  Mr,  Guy  was  pitching  itself  to  a  higher  key. 
"  I  begin  to  see  a  little  deeper  into  the  affair,"  he  add 
ed,  still  in  a  loud  voice.  "  You  are  a  dupe  of  that 
wench  and  her  husband  !  They  have  got  up  the  whole 
thing.  Her  husband  is,  I'll  warrant  you,  a  scheming 
villian,  who  — " 

The  door  leading  into  the  Doctor's  private  office,  or 
consultation  room,  which  had  been  ajar,  opened  sudden- 


292  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

ly,    and   a   man   entered.     He  was  tall,  and    of  erect 
bearing.     His  countenance  was  refined  and  intelligent 

—  his  look  dignified,  yet  a  little  stern.     He  had  large, 
strong  eyes,  and  a  broad  forehead,  away  from  which 
the  fine  black  hair  curled  short  and  clean. 

"  Mr.  Ewbank  —  Mr.  Adam  Guy,  Jr."  Doctor 
Hofland  introduced  the  two  men.  There  was  keen 
penetration  on  the  one  hand,  and  disconcerted  surprise 
on  the  other  ;  but,  it  was  plain  that  Guy  did  not  know 
Mr.  Ewbank  as  the  husband  of  his  sister,  a  fact  at 
once  perceived  by  Doctor  Hofland.  The  large,  dark, 
powerful  eyes  of  Mr.  Ewbank,  rested  in  those  of  Mr. 
Guy,  until  the  latter  wavered  and  fell  away  with  a 
sign  of  weakness.  Man  to  man,  the  stronger  was  felt, 
and,  by  force  acknowledged. 

"  You  spoke,  sir,  louder  than  you  thought,  just  now," 
said  Mr.  Ewbank,  in  a  deep,  manly  voice,  that  had  in 
it  a  throb  of  indignation,  "  and  I  could  not  help  but 
hear.  I  am  your  sister's  husband  !  " 

"  You  !  "  Guy  stepped  back,  in  manifest  astonish 
ment.  Mr.  Ewbank  looked  at  him  steadily,  until  he 
fairly  shrunk  in  the  presence  of  superior  manhood ; 
then  said  — 

"  Knowing  your  sister  as  I  her  husband,  know  her 

—  pure,  true,    womanly   and   good  —  I    cannot   hear, 
with   silent   indifference,  the   coarse   language   you  so 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  293 

wantonly    applied  to  her  just  now.     It  does  not  hurt 
her ;  but  it  wounds  me,  and  disgraces  you." 

"  Sir ! "  Guy  endeavored  to  rally  under  cover  of 
indignation.  But,  he  was  in  the  face  of  one  so  far 
above  him  in  moral  power,  that  he  felt  himself  almost 
as  weak  as  a  child. 

"  I  regret,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank,  u  that  our  first  meet 
ing  should  be  in  this  spirit.  But  I  would  be  less  than  a 
man,  if  I  did  not  rebuke  your  assault  upon  a  sister, 
who,  in  the  chiefest  things  that  give  beauty  and  worth 
to  human  character,  is  rivalled  by  few  of  her  sex.  For 
having  ministered,  in  all  tenderness  and  self-devotion, 
to  your  father,  through  months  of  watching  and  care» 
she  merits  something  different  from  you.  4  Wench  ' 
was  not  the  word  that  should  have  fallen  from  your 
lips,  Adam  Guy  !  " 

So  stern  and  strong  was  the  voice  —  so  intense  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Ewbank — as  he  stood  drawn  to  his  full 
height  in  front  of  the  mean-souled  man  he  was  rebuk-' 
ing,  that  Guy  shrunk,  and  cowered  in  silent  confusion. 
There  followed  a  brief  pause.  Guy  rallied  himself 
enough  to  affect  a  dignified  air,  with  which,  bowing  low, 
he  retired  from  the  office,  paying  no  heed  to  Doctor 
Hofland,  who  called  after  him  to  remain. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

• 

LITTLE  after  ten  o'clock,  on  the  next 
day,  Adam  Guy,  Jr.,  entered  the  office 
of  Justin  Larobe.  The  lawyer  was 
engaged,  and  he  had  to  wait  nearly 
half  an  hour  before  he  could  obtain  an 
interview.  He  was  sitting  in  an  ante 
room,  where  a  student  was  writing, 
when  a  person  came  through,  whom 
he  recognized  as  Glastonbury,  a  well  known  counsellor 
at  law.  He  had  been  all  this  time  in  conference  with 
Mr.  Larobe.  It  was  now  his  turn.  A  look,  searching 
and  suspicious,  met  him  as  he  went  in. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Guy."  The  lawyer  arose  and  received  him 
formally,  and  with  an  air  of  deference.  What  struck 
him  was  the  great  change  in  Mr.  Larobe,  who  did  not 
look,  to  him,  like  the  same  man  he  had  known  ten  years 
ago,  and,  occasionally,  met  during  the  lapse  of  that 
period.  Particularly  did  he  note  the  absence  of  a  cer 
tain  steadiness  of  the  eyes,  which  had  once  given  him 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  295 

an  advantage  over  timid  people,  and  those  not  entirely 
self-confident.  Now  they  fell  away  from  his  gaze,  if  he 
looked  at  him  intently,  but  came  back  again,  the  mo 
ment  his  ey^s  were  withdrawn,  in  a  suspicious,  searching 
scrutiny,  that  was  detected  over  and  over  again.  There 
was  in  his  face  a  worn  ^and  exhausted  air,  and  a  pinch 
ing  of  the  features,  as  if  he  had  suffered  from  bodily 
pain.  The  long  nose  and  wide  nostrils  were  sharp  and 
thin  —  his  hair  turning  gray  rapidly  —  his  form  begin 
ning  to  stoop. 

The  men  touched,  rather  than  clasped,  hands.  Mr. 
Guy  took  the  chair  that  was  offered.  Both  were  ill  at 
ease.  Guy  was  half  doubting  the  policy  of  this  inter 
view  which  he  had  sought ;  and  Larobe  was  trembling 
in  suspense  for  the  words  that  should  reveal  what  was 
in  the  mind  of  his  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Larobe,"  said  Guy,  forcing  himself  to  speak 
—  "  I  have  called  for  the  purpose  of  talking  with  you 
on  the  subject  of  certain  extraordinary  rumors  that  are 
afloat  in  regard  to  my  father.  You  have  heard  them,  no 
doubt." 

A  deadly  paleness,  in  spite  of  his  effort  to  be  com 
posed,  overspread  the  lawyer's  face. 

"  What  is  the  purport  of  these  rumors  ?  " 

Mr.  Larobe  managed  to  keep  the  tremor  that  ran 
through  his  spirit,  out  of  his  voice. 

"  It  is  said  that  he  is  alive  and  now  in  this  city." 


296  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Of  course  not." 

The  face  of  Mr.  Larobe  was  no  longer  of  a  deadly 
paleness.  He  leaned  in  a  more  confidential  way,  towards 
Guy. 

44  What  else  is  said  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  can  repeat.  Chiefly,  and  of  first  con 
cern  to  us,  that  a  person,  said  to  be  my  father,  is  in  the 
hands  of  designing  and  interested  individuals  —  one  of 
them  my  sister's  husband  —  who  asserts  that  they  are  in 
possession  of  all  that  is  required  to  prove  the  claimed 
identity.  Of  course,  you  are  to  be  convicted  of  crime 
and  punished,  and  I  am  to  be  robbed  of  so  much  of  my 
father's  estate  as  came  fairly  into  my  hands  by  his  will. 
A  precious  plot,  truly  !  " 

"  In  the  hands  of  your  sister's  husband  !  And  pray 
who  is  he  ?  " 

"  A  fellow  named  Ewbank.  I  never  saw  him  until 
last  night.  If  I  had  heard  the  name,  it  was  forgotten.'* 

"  Ewbank  !  "  Larobe  looked  confounded.  "  Not,  Ew 
bank  the  teacher  ?  " 

"  Teacher  or  preacher,  it  is  more  than  I  can  say." 

"  And  is  he  your  sister's  husband  ?  "  Larobe's  look 
of  surprise  remained. 

44  Yes.     But,  what  do  you  know  of  him  ?  " 

To  this  interrogation,  the  lawyer  made  no  reply,  but 
sat  with  looks  cast  down. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  297 

"  Who  is  in  league  with  Mr.  Ewbank  ?  "  he  asked, 
at  length. 

"  Doctor  Hofland." 

"  Who  else  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  informed." 

There  was  silence  again. 

"  This  Ewbank,  then,  is  your  sister's  husband,"  said 
Larobe,  after  musing  for  some  time. 

"  Yes.     So  I  learn." 

"  Which  sister  ?  " 

"  Lydia." 

"  Lydia.  I  thought  she  married  a  low,  worthless 
fellow." 

"  So  she  did.  But  he  died,  I  believe  ;  and  this  shrewd 
rascal  picked  her  up,  in  order,  no  doubt,  to  make  her  a 
stepping-stone  to  fortune  through  the  imposture  now 
attempted." 

Larobe  did  not  answer.  He  looked  stunned.  Guy 
was  troubled  at  his  manner. 

"  Were  you  advised  of  this  plot  before  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  In  part." 

"  Did  you  know  that  Doctor  Hofland  had  mixed  him 
self  up  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  inferred  as  much.  But,  have  you  informa 
tion,  Mr.  Guy,  as  to  where  the  man  now  is  who  claims 
to  be  your  father  ?  " 

"  He  is  living  with  my  sister." 

13* 


298  WHAT    CAME   AFTERWARDS. 

"  In  the  family  of  Mr.  Evvbank  !  " 

"  Yes.     So  I  understood  Doctor  Hofland." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  there  ?  " 

"For  several  months." 

"  It  can't  be  possible  !  "  There  was  more  than  sur 
prise  in  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Larobe.  Even  Guy 
was  startled  by  its  expression.  The  gleam  of  his  eyes 
—  the  curve  of  his  lips  —  the  quiver  that  ran  through 
all  the  facial  muscles  —  gave  signs  of  evil  passion  ;  of 
malice,  hate,  and  cruelty.  For  an  instant,  he  looked 
the  wolf  at  bay. 

"  Where  does  your  sister  live  ?  "  asked  Larobe,  as  he 
dropped  a  veil  of  apparent  indifference  over  his  face. 

"  I  am  not  informed." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  man  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  case  !  "  said  the  lawyer. 
"  And  this  long  waiting,  and  working  in  secret,  shows 
that  we  have  skilled  plotters  against  us." 

"The  chain  of  evidence  is  complete,  according  to 
Doctor  Hofland." 

"He -said  that  to  you?"- 

"  Yes.  That  all  the  testimony  was  ready,  and  that 
I  was  about  being  informed  of  every  thing." 

"When  did  he  say  this  ?" 

"JLast  night." 

"  To  you  ?  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  299 

"  Yes.  I  called  to  ask  the  meaning  of  some  things 
that  came  to  my  ears  yesterday,  and  he  then  made  the 
astounding  communication  about  my  father  ' 

"  Who  were  implicated  ?  " 

"  You,  and  my  step-mother.  He  says,  that  neither 
the  man  I  saw  at  the  Institution  on  Staten  Island,  nor 
the  lunatic  who  was  killed  in  falling  from  the  window, 
and  whose  body  now  lies  in  our  family  vault,  was 
my  father.  He  was  very  positive,  and  talked  like  one 
who  believed  all  he  said." 

"  You  don't  know  where  your  sister  lives  ?  "  Larobe 
had  not  replied  to  the  last  sentences  of  Guy.  From  a 
state  of  abstraction  into  which  he  fell,  lie  looked  up, 
asking  this  question  in  a  tone  of  interest,  that  a  little 
puzzled  his  companion. 

"  No,"  was  answered. 

They  sat  silent*  again. 

"What  can  be  done?"  asked  Guy,  breaking  the 
pause. 

"  Nothing,  until  a  move  is  made," 

The  office  door  opened  quietly,  and  a  sheriff's  deputy 
came  in.  Larobe  looked  up  with  a  slightly  annoyed  ex 
pression  — 

"  I'll  be  at  leisure  in  a  few  moments,  Garland.  Wait 
in  the  front  office." 

But  the  deputy  sheriff,  instead  of  retiring  on  this  in 
vitation,  said  — 


300  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Let  me  speak  with  you,  Mr.  Larobe." 

There  was  something  in  the  officer's  tone,  that  caused 
Guy  to  look  at  him  curiously,  and  made  Larobe's  face  a 
little  paler.  Rising,  the  lawyer  crossed  the  room  and 
stood  near  the  officer,  who  said  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

44  For  me  !  "  exclaimed  Larobe,  his  face  becoming 
white. 

The  officer  handed  him  a  paper.  He  did  not  read 
the  legal  form,  for  he  understood  too  well  its  import. 
He  was  under  arrest.  For  years,  a  haunting  terror  had 
dogged  his  steps.  For  years,  he  had  lived  in  dread  of 
this  hour.  For  years,  his  steps  had  been  close  upon  the 
edge  of  a  dark  abyss,  and  in  all  that  time  had  dwelt  with 
him  a  painful  sense  of  danger.  Now,  his  feet  had  slip 
ped,  and  there  was  no  arm  to  save  him  !  He  must  go 
down  to  swift  destruction.  No  wonder  that  his  face 
grew  white  as  ashes  ;  nor  that  his  knees  trembled  and 
gave  way. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Guy,  advancing.  He  had  ob 
served  the  blank  fear  in  Larobe's  countenance.  The 
lawyer,  aware  of  the  presence  in  which  he  stood  —  of 
the  keen  eyes  that  would  read  every  look,  and  move 
ment,  made  a  feeble  effort  at  self-composure.  But,  the 
old  strength  of  will  was  gone.  He  was  unable  to  com 
mand  the  hitherto  obedient  muscles  —  to  look  indiffer 
ence  while  terror  palsied  his  heart.  There  was  an  al 
most  helpless  waving  of  the  hand  towards  Mr.  Guy,  as 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  301 

if  to  keep  him  off.     But,  Guy  pressed  close  upon  him, 
grasping  his  arm,  and  crying  out,  sternly  — 

"  Is  it  all,  then,  true  !  Villain  !  speak  !  "  He  shook 
Larobe  with  violence,  in  his  excitement. 

All  this  was  too  much  for  the  guilty  man.  He  stag 
gered  back,  and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  the  sheriff's 
officer  supported  him  to  a  chair. 

"  Leave  mexfor  a. few  moments,  Garland.  I  wish  to 
have  a  word  or  two  alone  with  this  gentleman,"  said  La- 
robe,  in  a  weak,  exhausted  way. 

But  the  officer  did  not  move. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  I  shall  make  no  effort  to  escape. 
Just  a  minute  or  two,  Garland.  I  have  something  very 
particular  that  I  must  say  to  him  alone."  The  pale, 
shivering  prisoner  plead  with  the  officer. 

44  I'll  be  surety  for  him,"  said  Guy.  "  Give  us  a  few 
minutes  alone." 

A  little  while  the  officer  hesitated,  and  then  went 
slowly  into  the  next  room,  leaving  the  door  partly  open. 
As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Mr.  Larobe,  striving  anew 
to  compose  himself,  said  to  Guy  — 

44  What  if  this  man  should  be  your  father  ?  " 

Guy  did  not  answer.     The  question  was  unexpected. 

41 1  do   not  say  that  he  is  your  father.     I  only  ask, 

what  if  he  is  ?     This  arrest  is  for  the  purpose  of  giving 

importance  to  the  claim  about  to  be  set  up  for  unknown 

person,  who  assumes  to  be  Adam  Guy,  Sr.     Now,  sup- 


302  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

pose  the  claim,  right  or  wrong,  affirmed  by  legal  decision ; 
how  will  you  stand  ?  I  merely  put  the  question." 

u  That  is  my  affair,  not  yours,"  answered  Guy,  with 
considerable  impatience. 

"  Very  well.  I  have  no  more  to  say."  The  lawyer's 
voice  was  choked  and  husky.  Rising,  he  called  to  the 
officer,  who  immediately  came  in. 

"I  am  ready,  Garland.  Thank  you  for  waiting." 
And  the  prisoner  went  out  with  the  deputy  sheriff. 
He  was  scarcely  past  the  threshold,  ere  Guy  repented 
of  his  stupidity  in  not  accepting  from  Larobe  the  com 
munication  he  had,  evidently,  intended  to  make.  He 
even  called  after  him.  But  the  opportunity  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

OT  in  vain  had  Mr.  Ewbank,  through 
all  the  months  of  Mr.  Guy's  childish 
state,  wrought  with  him  for  good  —  not 
in  vain  had  Mrs.  Ewbank  ministered 
to  him  in  patience,  in  gentleness,  and 
in  love.  Too  deeply  had  the  impres 
sions  they  sought  to  make,  imbedded 
&<r  ~  themselves  in  his  consciousness.  A 
sudden  and  entire  restoration  of  the  past,  might  have 
obliterated  much  ;  but,  old  things  came  back  so  gradu 
ally,  that  opportunity  was  given  to  blend  with  them 
new  and  better  states  of  life. 

The  old  hardness  —  the  old  love  of  money  —  the  old 
intense  selfishness,  manifested  themselves  at  times  — 
but,  love  for  his  daughter,  born  of  her  love  and  care  for 
him,  and  a  regard  for,  and  confidence  in  Mr.  Ewbank, 
upon  which  no  suspicion  could  intrude,  were  softening 
and  countervailing  elements  with  Mr.  Guy.  Light  had 
come  into  his  mind,  showing  him  a  different  relation  of 


304  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

things.  He  saw  higher  truths  than  had  ever  before 
presented  themselves;  saw  beauty  in  goodness,  and. a 
charm  in  self-denial.  Limited,  for  a  period  of  time,  to 
the  society  of  his  daughter,  her  husband,  and  Doctor 
and  Mrs.  Hofland,  he  became  familiar  with  traits  in 
human  character  never  seen  before.  In  the  old  life,  he 
did  not  believe  that  such  a  thing  as  unselfishness  existed. 
It  was  a  dream  of  the  preacher  and  the  enthusiast. 
But,  in  the  new  life,  it  was  a  conviction  that  no  reason 
ing  could  disturb. 

Everything  in  regard  to  his  family  that  could  be 
learned,  from  the  period  of  his  removal  to  the  hospital 
until  the  present  time,  was  communicated  to  Mr.  Guy. 
By  many  things  that  were  related,  he  was  touched  deep 
ly  ;  and  many  things  aroused  his  fiery  indignation.  Al 
ways,  Mr.  Ewbank  endeavored  to  draw  from  his  anger 
the  spirit  of  retaliation  ;  to  lift  him  above  revenge  into 
a  regard  for  what  was  just  and  humane.  Towards  his 
son  Adam,  on  learning  how  heartlessly  he  had  separat 
ed  himself  from  his  brothers  and  sisters,  and  how  basely 
and  unnaturally  he  had  acted  towards  Lydia,  when  in 
formed  of  her  presence  in  the  city  under  circumstances 
of  extreme  destitution,  his  feelings  were  very  bitter. 
No  argument,  ho  excuse,  no  representation,  could  soft 
en  him  towards  Adam. 

"  He  is  unworthy  the  name  of  son  or  brother !  Don't 
speak  of  him  !  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  305 

In  sentences  like  these,  varied  with  harsher  words, 
he  answered  all  the  attempts  made  by  Lydia  and  her 
husband  to  draw,  in  his  mind,  a  veil  over  Adam's  heart 
less  conduct ;  and  they  finally  ceased  all  reference  to  a 
subject,  that  only  made  him  sterner  and  less  forgiving. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  Larobe 
had  been  arrested,  Doctor  Hofland  received  a  note  from 
him,  asking  an  interview  on  matters  of  importance,  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  place  named  was 
the  lawyer's  office.  He  had  given  bond  for  his  appear 
ance  at  court,  and  was  at  liberty.  At  the  hour  men 
tioned,  Doctor  Hofland  called,  as  desired.  He  found 
Mr.  Larobe  alone.  His  appearance  shocked  him. 
Never  had  he  seen,  in  any  face,  a  more  exhausted,  worn, 
and  hopeless  expression.  But,  his  eyes  were  steady  as 
he  looked  at  him  —  steady,  with  some  desperate  pur 
pose. 

"  Excuse  me,  Doctor,  for  having  put  to  the  trou 
ble  of  coming  to  my  office,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  I  would 
have  called  on  you,  but  here  we  shall  be  free  from 
chance  interruptions  ;  and  I  have  that  to  say  which 
needs  to  be  calmly  considered.  And,  first  of  all,  Doc 
tor,  will  you  receive  from  me  any  communication  I  may 
think  best  to  make,  and  hold  it  sacred  to  the  extent  I 
desire.  I  can  trust  jour  honor.  Your  pledge  given,  I 
know  it  will  bind." 


306  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

The  Doctor,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection,  answer 
ed— 

"  Is  any  good  to  arise  from  this  communication  ?  " 

"  That  will  depend,  mainly,  on  your  judgment  in  re 
gard  to  it.  If  what  I  have  to  propose  meets  your  ap 
proval,  good  will  arise  —  if  not  to  me,  at  least  to  others. 
If  it  does  not  meet  your  approval,  I  stipulate  for  an 
honorable  silence  touching  all  that  I  may  communicate. 
On  no  other  terms  will  I  utter  a  sentence  of  what  is  in 
my  mind.  You  are,  no  doubt,  aware  that  I  was,  to-day, 
placed  under  arrest." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it." 

"  And  you  know  something  of  the  cause  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  of  this  that  I  desire  to  talk  with  you.  Are 
you  prepared  to  hear  me,  in  the  strictest  confidence  ? 
To  hold  my  communication  as  sacred  as  it  made  at  the 
confessional  ?  I  have  no  purpose  of  deception  or  hind 
rance.  What  I  shall  say  will  not  embarrass  you  in  the 
smallest  degree.  Your  present  relation  to  the  case  will 
remain  undisturbed,  if  you  decide  not  to  act  in  the  line 
of  policy  I  wish  to  present  for  your  consideration." 

"  I  will  hear  you,"  said  the  Doctor,  after  a  silence  of 
over  a  minute. 

"  In  honorable  confidence  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

They  were  sitting  at  opposite  sides  of  a  table,  and 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  307 

Larobe  was  leaning,  in  nervous  expectation,  towards 
Doctor  Holland.  At  the  answer  he  drew  back,  with 
stronger  signs  of  relief  than  he  meant  to  have  betrayed. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  after  a  pause  for  collected 
thought,  "  I  have  not  been  in  ignorance  of  the  move 
ment  for  some  time  planned  against  me  ;  nor  of  the 
nature  of  the  evidence  that  will  be  adduced  to  convict  me 
of  crime.  I  know  just  how  much  it  is  all  worth,  and 
how  to  meet  and  dispose  of  it ;  and  I  feel  sure  of  being 
able  to  thwart  all  the  plans  laid  for  my  ruin.  Still,  I 
shrink  from  the  infamous  notoriety  which  must  come 
when  the  case  opens.  Of  late  years,  my  health  has  not 
been  good.  I  am  losing  in  both  nervous  and  mental 
stamina,  and  do  not  feel  equal  to  the  strain  that  must 
come.  Therefore,  I  am  looking  for  some  door  of  escape ; 
and  will  abandon  much  that  I  hold  dear  for  the  privilege 
of  a  quiet  exit.  You  understand  me  ?  " 

The  Doctor  bowed. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  course,  I  cannot  obtain  the  privilege  asked,  ex 
cept  by  yielding  all  this  suit  is  designed  to  secure." 

44  Say,  in  the  fewest  and  directest  sentences,  just 
what  you  wish  to  communicate,  Mr.  Larobe."  Doctor 
Hofland  drew  himself  up,  and  spoke  with  firmness.  "  I 
have  passed  my  word  of  honor  to  betray  your  confidence 
in  nothing." 


308  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"  Iii  a  sentence,  then,  Mr.  Guy  is  living."  Larobe's 
face  crimsoned  slightly  ;  and  then  became  paler  than  be 
fore. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  replied  the  Doctor,  unmoved. 

"  But  the  evidence  in  possession  of  his  friends  is  not, 
in  all  respects,  complete,  and  may  be  so  obscured  by  the 
testimony  of  witnesses  on  the  other  side,  as  to  make  the 
issue  doubtful.  I  shall  fight  in  this  contest  hard,  and 
without  scruple  as  to  the  means  employed  to  gain  suc 
cess,  for,  with  me  everything  is  at  stake.  A  desperate 
man,  Doctor,  will  use  desperate  means.  But,  all  doubt 
as  to  the  issue  may  cease  if  you  will.  I  am  ready,  if 
permitted,  to  retire  from  the  field.  It  is  to  say  this, 
that  I  have  asked  an  interview." 

"  What  are  your  stipulations  ?  " 

"  The  abandonment  of  this  suit,  on  condition  that  I 
place  in  you  hands  such  evidence  as  will,  at  once,  restore 
Mr.  Guy  to  his  proper  legal  status." 

"  It  is  not  with  me,  Mr.  Larobe,  to  say  yea  or  nay  to 
such  a  proposal,"  replied  Doctor  Hofland. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that.  But,  being  in  possession  of 
my  offer,  you  may  ascertain  without  committing  me,  the 
chances  of  its  acceptance.  It  will  be  better,  all  round, 
I  think.  The  issue  of  the  suit  will  go  no  farther,  at  the 
worst,  than  the  establishment  of  Mr.  Guy's  identity. 
I  shall  escape  legal  consequences.  The  loophole  is 
open." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  309 

"  What  then?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 
"  Within  twenty-four  hours  after  I  am  satisfied  that 
the  suit  is  to  be  abandoned,  and  my  surety  safe,  I  shall 
retire  from  this  city." 

"Whither?" 

A  shadow  of  pain  swept  over  his  face. 

"  I  shall  drop  down,  like  a  wind-blown  seed,  in  some 
unknown  spot,"  he  answered,  in  a  sad  voice.  u  But 
whether  the  soil  be  rich  or  barren,  my  roots  will  not 
strike  deep  ;  for  there  is  no  vitality  in  me.  I  have 
played  madly,  in  life,  Doctor,  risking  honor,  happiness, 
safety,  everything  —  and  I  have  lost !  O,  fool  !  fool." 
He  shivered  as  he  said  this,  like  one  a-cold. 

"  Something  more  than  you  have  offered  will  be  re 
quired,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  to  restore  some  twenty-five  or  thir 
ty  thousand  dollars  appropriated  from  the  estate  of  Mr. 
Guy." 

There  was  a  look  of  blank  dismay  in  the  face  of 
Larobe. 

"  That  demand  will  be  cruel  and  oppressive,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  not  debtor  in  any  such  sum  to  Mr. 
Guy's  estate.  All  that  I  am  worth,  would  not  cover 
it/' 

*•  The  executors  under  the  will  of  Mrs.  Larobe,  find 
evidence  going  to  prove  the  claim ;  and  this  evidence  is 


310  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

in  Mr.  Guy's  possession.  Of  one  thing  you  may  be 
sure,  he  will  never  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  de 
mand." 

"  Then,  driven  to  the  wall,  there  is  nothing  left  for 
me  but  desperate  battle."  The  eyes  of  Larobe  were 
fierce  with  a  sudden  gleam.  His  lips  drew  back  from 
his  teeth.  He  looked  savage  and  defiant. 

"  And  certain  defeat,"  was  replied.  "  Ah,  sir  ! 
You  may  well  affirm  that  you  have  played  madly  in 
life,  as  all  play,  who  seek,  through  wrong,  a  coveted 
good ;  for  in  all  wrong  lies  hidden  the  seeds  of  a  just 

retribution,  which,  sooner  or  later,  surely  comes.      If 

• 
you  give  desperate  battle,  according  to  your  threat,  the 

more  disastrous  will  be  your  defeat.  Take  my  advice, 
and  let  your  offer  include  full  restitution  in  every  par 
ticular.  As  I  have  just  said,  there  is  evidence  now  in 
Mr.  Guy's  hands,  going  to  show  that  you  have  between 
twenty-five  and  thirty  thousand  dollars  of  his  estate  in 
your  possession.  He  is  not  the  one  to  yield  a  farthing 
of  his  just  rights  ;  and  of  all  other  living  men,  you  have 
the  least  title  to  his  consideration." 

For  the  space  of  nearly  five  minutes,  Larobe  sat 
with  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  Heavy  lines  furrowed  his 
row  —  his  face  was  rigid. 

"  What  is  the  extent  of  your  influence  with  Mr. 
Guy  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length.  His  voice  had  regained 
its  calmness. 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  311 

"  He  has  yielded  in  many  tilings  to  my  judgment," 
replied  the  Doctor. 

'•  Do  you  think  he  will  act  according  to  your  judg 
ment  in  the  matter  I  have  presented  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say,  Mr.  Larobe." 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  He  may  be  influenced." 

"  What  will  be  your  course  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  decided." 

Larobe  had  not  expected  this  answer,  as  the  half 
surprised,  half  alarmed  expression  of  his  face  showed. 

"  What  I  have  offered,  will  secure  all   that  can  be 

» 

gained  through  the  courts,  after  long  delays  —  for,  I 
will  fight  him  to  the  .last." 

"  Possibly  you  may  be  right  in  this  —  possibly  wrong. 
I  will  give  sober  consideration  to  what  you  have  said, 
and  then,  after  sounding  Mr.  Guy  and  his  friends,  see 
you  again." 

"When  will  you  see  me  ?     I  want  no  delays." 

"  Say  to-morrow  night." 

"  Very  well.  To-morrow  night.  Will  you  call  up 
on  me  at  my  office  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  Doctor  arose,  and  withdrew.  Larobe  did  not 
accompany  him  to  the  door.  He  was  too  much  op 
pressed  for  courtesy.  When  alone,  he  bent  forward 
on  the  table  at  which  he  was  sitting,  with  an  abandoned 


312  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

air,  letting  his  chest  and  face  rest  heavily  down  upon  it. 
A  groan  parted  his  lips.  He  did  not  stir  for  a  long 
time.  Then  he  arose,  heavily,  like  one  who  had  been 
stunned,  and  moved  about  the  office  with  an  uncertain 
air.  Finally,  he  took  from  an  iron  safe  a  bundle  of 
papers  —  title  deeds,  certificates  of  stock,  and  various 
securities  —  and,  spreading  them  out  on  the  table, 
passed  several  hours  in  examining  and  arranging  them. 
In  this  work  he  was  active  and  in  earnest.  It  was 
nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  he  replaced  them  in  his 
fire  proof,  and  throwing  himself  on  a  lounge,  passed 
the  remaining  part  of  the  night  in  a  heavy  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


HE  two  interviews  held  by  Adam 
Guy,  Jr.,  with  Doctor  Hofland  and 
Mr.  Larobe,  left  his  mind  in  a  state 
of  doubt,  anxiety  and  alarm.  To 
him,  the  re-appearance  of  his  father 
would  be  regarded  as  a  calamity.  No 
natural  affection,  no  love  of  justice,  no 
righteous  indignation  towards  the  al 
leged  perpetrators  of  a  dreadful  crime,  had  power  over 
his  basely  sordid  spirit.  "  How  will  it  affect  me  ?  " 
Beyond  that,  he  had  no  concern — asked  no  question. 
It  was  not  his  interest  to  have  his  father  alive  ;  and, 
therefore,  he  assumed  the  negative,  instead  of  examin 
ing  all  affirmative  evidence  ;  and,  because  he  wished 
his  father  dead,  tried  to  accumulate  arguments  against 
the  possibility  of  his  being  alive. 

He  could  not  help  being  profoundly  disturbed.  The 
fact  that  his  father  —  or,  as  he  had  it,  the  person  claim 
ing  to  be  his  father  —  was  with  his  sister  Lydia,  towards 

whom  he  had  acted  with   such  cold  hearted  indiffer- 
14 


314  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

ence,  was  particularly  distasteful  to  him.  On  the  pre 
sumption  that  this  claim  was  valid,  the  fact  suggested 
many  unpleasant  consequences.  The  meeting  with 
Mr.  Ewbank  had  left  impressions  and  reflections  by 
no  means  agreeable.  He  saw  in  him  a  man  of  superior 
mind  and  quality  —  one,  so  far  as  his  sister  was  con 
cerned,  full}r  competent  to  maintain  her  rights  in  the 
impending  contest. 

Two  or  three  days  were  spent  by  Adam  Guy,  Jr., 
in  perplexed  debate  touching  his  own  action  in  this 
strange  complication.  Then,  with  something  of  blind 
desperation,  he  resolved  to  call  at  his  sister's  and  see 
for  himself  the  man  who  claimed  to  be  his  father.  The 
time  chosen  was  evening.  In  reply  to  a  note  written 
to  Doctor  Hofland,  he  got  the  location  of  his  sister's 
house.  It  was  late  —  past  nine  o'clock  —  when  he 
stood  at  the  door  of  a  moderate  sized  dwelling  in  the 
western  part  of  the  city.  In  answer  to  his  inquiry  for 
Mrs.  Ewbank,  he  was  informed  that  she  was  not  at 
home. 

"  Can  I  see  Mr.  Ewbank  ?  "  he  then  asked. 

"  He  is  out  also,"  replied  the  servant. 

Partly  turning,  he  stood  for  a  little  while ;  then  said, 
like  one  who  had  constrained  himself  to  speak  — 

"Is  Mr.  Guy  at  home?" 

"  No,  sir.     They  all  went  away  together." 

"  Went  where  ?  " 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  315 

"  To  Mr.  Larobe's,  I  think  I  heard  Mr.  Ewbank 
say  —  down  by  the  Monument." 

"  When  did  they  go  ?  " 

"This  morning;  and  the  children  went  with  them." 

Adam  Guy,  Jr.,  turned  away  without  a  word  more. 
He  was  confounded.  What  could  this  mean  ?  Affairs 
were  rapidly  assuming  most  unwelcome  shapes.  All 
the  family  gone  to  the  residence  of  his  late  step-mother ! 

He  had  returned  to  the  central  portion  of  the  city 
before  reaching  a  decision  on  the  course  to  be  pursued. 
Still  undetermined,  he  yet  walked  in  the  direction  of 
the  Monument,  and  at  last  found  himself  in  front  of  the 
house  where,  for  the  time,  all  his  thoughts  centred. 
Acting  more  from  impulse  than  from  any  clear  judg 
ment  of  the  case  in  hand,  he  ascended  to  the  door  and 
rang  the  bell.  He  had  not  even  decided  the  question 
as  to  who  should  be  inquired  for  ;  and  this  decision  had 
to  be  made  in  the  face  of  an  expectant  servant. 

'"  Is  Mr.  Larobe  at  home  ?  "  He  knew  that  he  was 
not  there,  when  he  asked  the  question.  But  this 
would  give  him  time. 

"  No,  sir.  Mr.  Larobe  does  not  live  here  novr." 
The  answer  dashed  him  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Larobe's  children  are  still  here  ? ' 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Guy  turned  away  partly,  and  stood  with  an  ir 
resolute  air  for  some  moments. 


316  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"Is  Mr. —  Mr. —  Ewbank — "  He  hesitated  and 
faltered  in  his  speech,  leaving  the  sentence  imperfect. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Ewbank  is  here,"  promptly  answer 
ed  the  servant. 

"  Can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  Walk  in,  sir."  And  the  servant  moved  back. 
Mr.  Guy  entered  and  stood  in  the  hall.  The  parlor 
doors  were  open,  and  a  strong  light  from  the  chande 
lier  poured  through  them.  The  sound  of  voices  was 
on  the  air. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Ewbank  here.  And  the 
yet  undecided  visitor,  shrank  back  from  the  glare  of 
gaslight  towards  the  dim  vestibule.  In  the  few  mo 
ments  that  elapsed  from  the  time  the  servant  left  him 
until  Mr.  Ewbank  appeared,  Mr.  Guy  sought  in  vain 
to  bring  his  thoughts  in  order,  and  to  determine  some 
line  of  action.  Mr.  Ewbank  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  Mr.  Guy,"  said  Adam,  introducing  himself. 

"  Oh  ! "  Mr.  Ewbank's  ejaculation  was  in  a  sur 
prised  tone.  He  made  no  other  response,  but  stood  in 
a  waiting  attitude,  for  Mr.  Guy  to  speak  his  wishes. 
But,  what  had  he  to  say  ?  All  his  thoughts  were  still 
in  confusion.  Half  stammering,  he  uttered  the  sen 
tence  — 

"  I  called  at  your  house  this  evening,  and  they  told 
me  you  were  here." 

«  Yes,  sir." 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  317 

"  I  would  like  to  have  a  few  words  with  you." 

"  On  what  subject  ?  " 

"  About  this  person  who  assumes  to  be  my  father." 

"  Ah !  He  is  here,  Mr.  Guy.  Perhaps  you  had 
better  see  him  for  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Ewbank." 

"  Just  what  I  desire.  It  was  with  this  end  in  view 
that  I  called  at  your  house." 

"Walk  in."  And  Mr.  Ewbank  moved  back,  fol 
lowed  by  Mr.  Guy,  who,  never  in  all  his  life  before, 
had  experienced  such  strange,  confused,  and  oppressed 
feelings.  Ere  he  had  recovered  himself,  he  was  usher 
ed  into  the  parlor,  where  he  found  nearly  a  dozen  per 
sons,  old  and  young,  assembled.  On  one  of  the  sofas 
lay  a  pale-faced  boy,  whose  large  bright  eyes  turned 
wonderingly  on  him  as  he  entered.  Sitting  in  a  large 
chair  with  purple  linings  and  cushions,  close  by  the  sick 
boy,  and  with  one  hand  on  his  forehead,  was  a  man, 
against  whom  leaned  a  singular  looking  girl,  whose 
half  vacant,  half  intelligent  face,  expressed  wonder  and 
delight.  The  moment  he  entered,  he  was  transfixed 
by  the  eyes  of  this  man,  who  leaned  slightly  forward, 
with  contracting  brows.  All  doubt  left  the  mind  of 
Adam  Guy,  Jr.  He  knew  this  man .  As  if  the  dead 
had  been  raised  up,  his  father  was  before  him.  He  stood 
still,  all  power  of  speech  and  motion  for  an  instant  sus 
pended. 


318  WHAT   CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

"At  last,"  said  his  father,  speaking  sternly.  At  last, 
Adam !  " 

There  followed  a  breathless  silence.  Adam  then 
came  forward  slowly,  pausing  within  a  few  feet  of  his 
father,  and  looking  at  him  with  straining  eyes. 

"  My  father  !  "  dropped  from  his  lips  —  not   coldh 
—  not  with  constraint  —  but  with  a  kind  of  wild,  gush 
ing  surprise,  mingled  with  so  much  feeling  that  every 
heart  felt  the  throb  in  his  voice.     "My  father!'5   he 
repeated.     Then  covering  liis  face  he  stood  trembling. 

"  Adam  !  "  The  old  man's  voice  softened  a  little  ; 
and  he  made  an  effort  to  rise  from  his  chair.  Lydia 
was  by  his  side  in  a  moment,  and  her  lips  were  at  his 
ear. 

"  Forgive  him  !  "  she  whispered  —  and  Adam  heard 
her  words  — "  He  is  your  son.  Forgive  the  past, 
father  —  the  dark  and  dreadful  past  —  and  bless  God's 
love  for  the  sunshine  that  lies  about  us  now.  Don't 
let  anger  shadow  this  happy  hour,  dear  father  !  " 

"  Adam  !  "  Mr.  Guy  reached  forth  his  hand.  It 
was  grasped  and  held  tightly  for  a  little  while.  Both 
father  and  son  were  strongly  moved.  Adam  was  first 
to  recover  himself.  With  returning  composure,  came 
a  measure  of  embarrassment.  The  position  he  had 
maintained  towards  all  his  family  —  his  conduct  and 
language  with  reference  to  his  father  since  becoming 
aware  of  his  presence  in  the  city  —  his  conscious  selfish- 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  319 

ness  and  cupidity  —  all  had  their  effect.  He  felt 
humbled,  unworthy,  if  not  debased  in  the  presence  of 
his  father,  and  of  the  sister  he  had  despised,  cruelly 
neglected  and  basely  insulted.  The  sister  who  now 
said  to  his  father  —  "  Forgive  him  !  He  is  your  son  !  " 
—  and  said  it  with  a  manifest  power  that  showed  her 
influence. 

At  the  earliest  opportunity,  Adam  Guy,  Jr.,  took 
Doctor  Hofland  aside,  and  asked  — 

"  What  of  Larobe  ?  " 

"  He  has  confessed  everything,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  I  am  amazed  !  Confessed  that  he  kept  my  father 
imprisoned  for  ten  years  !  " 

"  Yes.  We  have  the  painful  narrative  in  his  hand 
writing,  and  sworn  to,  thus  every  impediment  to  the 
restitution  of  your  father's  legal  rights  is  removed." 

"  But,  such  a  confession  must  consign  him  to  a  crimi 
nal's  cell.  I  wonder  that  he  made  it." 

"  He  has  fled  from  the  city." 

"  And  betrayed  his  surety,"  said  Guy.  "  So,  dis 
honor  is  the  twin  of  crime." 

"  Your  father  will  abandon  the  prosecution." 

"  Was  this  agreed  to  ?  " 

"  It  was,  no  doubt,  understood.  Barred  away  from 
the  city  of  his  nativity  —  stripped  of  fortune  —  broken 
in  health  and  spirits  —  and  bearing  with  him  the  un 
dying  memory  of  all  he  had  madly  risked  and  lost  — 


320  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

I  think  his  bitterest  enemy  might  willingly  abate  the 
prison  cell.  Let  not  man  follow  him  with  retribution. 
His  punishment,  like  Cain's,  will  be  greater  than  he  can 
bear.  He  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Just  and  the  Merciful, 
and  we  may  safely  leave  him  there." 

"  I  am  not  of  your  spirit,  Doctor.  I  would  hunt  him 
to  the  death,"  answered  Guy.  "  No  retribution  is  too 
severe  for  such  an  infamous  crime.  He  should  never 
have  been  permitted  to  escape." 

"  Your  father  thought  differently,"  replied  Doctor 
Hofland.  "  As  you  have  evidence  to-night,  he  is  under 
the  influence  of  those  who  draw  him  towards  forgive 
ness.  Your  sister  and  her  husband,  Mr.  Guy,  are  not 
of  your  hard,  stern,  unrelenting  quality ;  else,  had  re 
conciliation  been  a  more  difficult  thing  than  you  found 
it.  You  owe  them  much,  if  you  set  any  value  upon 
this  reconciliation.  A  word,  a  motion,  from  Lydia  or 
her  husband,  would  have  thrown  up  a  wall  between 
you  and  your  father  that  you  might  have  striven  in  vain 
to  pass.  But,  they  are  above  such  base  and  selfish  ac 
tion.  Lydia  has  been  learning  in  a  new  school,  under 
anew  teacher,  lessons  of  humanity  and  forgiveness,  that 
you  and  all  the  members  of  your  family  should  learn 
also.  Mr.  Guy,  pardon  me  ;  but,  it  has  so  happened  in 
the  order  of  Providence,  that  my  relation  to  your  father 
and  some  members  of  his  family,  has  assumed  features 
that  make  it  my  duty  to  use  plainness  of  speech  —  and 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  321 

I  now  say  to  you  :  —  Let  there  be  laid  as  heavy  a  man 
tle  as  possible  over  the  past ;  and  let  the  present,  as  it 
unfolds  itself,  be  accepted  in  a  new  and  better  spirit  than 
you  have  ever  shown.  Against  you,  Mr.  Guy,  as  the 
oldest  son  and  brother,  all  have  cause  of  complaint. 
You  did  not  act  well  the  part  assigned  you  in  the  Prov 
idence  of  God  ;  but  drew  away  from  the  weak  and  the 
helpless  and  lefc  them  to  the  world's  tender  mercies.  If 
they  are  ready  to  forgive,  accept  the  proffer.  Of  all  your 
sisters  and  brothers,  Lydia  was  most  cruelly  neglected ; 
yet,  is  she  the  first  to  speak  for  you  —  the  first  to  step 
in  and  turn  aside  your  father's  anger." 

Mr.  Guy  was  visibly  affected.  He  saw  his  own  im 
age  as  he  had  never  seen  it  before  —  distorted  and  hid 
eous,  in  contrast  with  the  beautiful  image  of  his  sister. 
Not  answering,  Doctor  Hofland  resumed  — 

"  As  for  her  husband,  I  have,  during  several  months, 
observed  him  closely,  and  my  testimony  to  his  worth  is 
without  abatement.  A  purer,  truer  man,  I  do  not  know. 
And  he  is,  also,  a  man  of  education  and  enlarged  views. 
One  of  superior  quality  in  all  respects.  Of  necessity, 
taking  all  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  your  father's 
restoration  to  society,  Mr.  Ewbank  will,  hereafter,  ex 
ercise  much  influence  over  him,  and  I  need  not  add, 
after  what  has  just  been  remarked,  that  this  influence 
will  be  for  good.  In  everything,  it  will,  I  know,  for  I 

have  talked  with  him  freely,  lead  towards-  family  re- 
14* 


322  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

union  on  the  right  basis.  Accept  him,  Mr.  Guy,  as  a 
true  friend  —  a  wise,  unselfish  friend.  Don't  assume  a 
hostile  attitude  ;  this  will  hurt  only  yourself,  for  he  is 
a  strong,  clear-seeing  man,  and  brave  as  strong.  In  the 
line  of  duty,  he  can  be  as  inflexible  as  iron.  I  say  all 
this  freely,  that  you  may  know  just  where  you  stand." 

Mr.  Evvbank  joined  them  at  this  moment,  and  Doctor 
Hofland  saw,  by  Guy's  subdued  and  respectful  manner, 
that  his  counsel  would  be  heeded.  He  left  them  togeth 
er,  and  was  pleased  to  see  them  in  earnest  conversation, 
for  a  long  time. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  father,  holding  Adam's  hand,  as 
the  latter  was  about  going  away  —  Lydia  stood  with  an 
arm  drawn  in  one  of  her  father's,  and  leaning  her  face 
against  him  tenderly  —  "  My  son,  there  is  for  us  all  a 
better  and  a  truer  life,  if  we  will  lead  it.  Your  sister 
and  her  good  husband  have  helped  to  open  for  me  the 
door  of  this  better  and  truer  life,  and  my  feet,  I  trust, 
are  on  the  threshold,  trying  to  enter.  Will  you  not 
enter  with  me  ?  Touching  the  past,  my  son,  I  have 
much  to  complain  of  you  " — Lydia  moved  uneasily, 
and  looked  up  into  her  father's  face.  He  went  on  — 
"  But  I  will  throw  a  mantle  over  the  past ;  and  I  pray 
you,  Adam,  not  to  remove  it.  This  is  now  my  home, 
and  the  home  of  Lydia  and  her  husband.  Let  there  be 
no  jealousies  towards  them,  for  they  will  provoke  none. 
Had  my  impulses  ruled,  you  and  I  would  not  now  be 


WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS.  323 

standing  face  to  face ;  for  my  anger  was  like  fire  when 
I  learned  all  that  you  had  been  and  all  that  you  had 
done.  But  for  them,  I  would  not  have  forgiven.  Un 
der  this  roof,  my  son,  a  new  home  is  to  be  constructed, 
in  which  love  and  peace  are  to  dwell.  We  have  heard 
from  your  sister  Frances.  She  is  in  the  west,  and  is 
now  returning  to  make  one  with  us.  Edwin  has  not 
been  here.  May  I  trust  you  to  see  him,  and  take  a 
message  from  his  father  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  faithfully,  all  you  may  desire."  Adam's 
voice  trembled. 

"  Say  to  him,  that  I  know  all  that  he  has  recently 
done  ;  and  that  I  understand  the  motives  from  which 
he  acted.  Say  also,  that  I  have  laid  it  away  with  the  past 
which  I  have  forgiven,  and  desire  to  forget.  I  wish  to 
see  him.  You  understand  me,  Adam  ?  " 

"  I  do. 

"  And  the  spirit  in  which  I  speak  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Father  and  son  held  each  other's  hands  with  a  tighten- 

& 

ing  clasp  for  some  moments.  When  Adam  turned  away 
and  left  the  room,  his  eyes  were  dim  with  moisture  ;  and 
wet  eyes  looked  after  him. 

"  May  God's  peace  be  on  this  dwelling,"  said  Doctor 
Hofland,  taking  the  hand  of  his  old  friend,  as  Adam  re 
tired. 

Mr.  Guy  lost  his  self-control,  and  leaning  down,  laid 


324  WHAT    CAME    AFTERWARDS. 

his  face  on  the  head  of  Lydia,  who  was  still  at  his  side, 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

On  this  last  scene  in  our  drama  of  life,  the  curtain 
falls.  Its  foreshadowings  of  days  to  come  are  full  of 
promise  —  so  full,  that  their  blessing  will  not  be  count 
ed  dear  even  at  the  great  price  through  which  the  pur 
chase  came.  The  fire  is  never  too  hot  that  burns  out 
the  dross,  leaving  only  precious  gold. 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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